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W. LOrmslrv. New York. 




THE 


SACRED TABLEAUX: 

OR, 


REMARKABLE INCIDENTS IN THE OLD AND NEW TESTAMENT. 


fillustwrtetr JFortj? Steel Hufltabmfls, 


FROM THE ANCIENT MASTERS. 


THE DESCRIPTIONS BY DISTINGUISHED AMERICAN WRITERS. 


EDITED BY 

V 

THOMAS WYATT, A. M. 

AUTHOR OF “DISTINGUISHED AMERICAN OFFICERS,” 
“HISTORY OF KINGS OF FRANCE,” ETC. 


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BOSTON: 

M. WHITTEMORE 
1848 . 

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JOHN 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S47, by 
John M. Whittemore, 

in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



boston: 

Dickinson Printing House . . . Damrell & Moore. 
No. 62 Washington Street. 


PREFACE. 


In this age of veneration for holy writings, it 
cannot be doubted that any well-directed effort 
to advance the cause of Biblical literature will 
meet the approbation of the intelligent. Hap- 
pily, in our country, there is an increasing 
interest in Sacred reading, which insures a 
large degree of estimation even to the humblest 
attempts of pious learning ; the Editor, therefore, 
does not hesitate to express his firm persuasion 
that this work will find that high favor with 
the public, which is, in fact, guarantied by the 
varied acquirements and merited celebrity of its 
contributors. 

The mass of sacred erudition embodied under 
the names of the most esteemed and admired 


IV 


PREFACE. 


American divines, of all denominations, calls for 
the unqualified applause of every Christian 
reader; the more, that here they unite in one 
holy hand of brotherhood ; each in his sphere 
pointing out the road to happiness and to 
God, without touch of sectarianism ; while their 
several productions are as beautifully and inter- 
estingly descriptive, as they are chaste, pure, 
and excellent. 

The Editor is unable to withhold the expres- 
sion of his pride and gratification, at being the 
channel through which so much of all that is 
good passes to the public ; nor can he doubt 
that a lasting celebrity, commensurate with 
the benevolence and Christian spirit of the 
reverend contributors, will reward their pious 
labors. 

It is certainly unnecessary to expatiate on the 
benefits to he derived from these graphic descrip- 
tions of the most remarkable incidents of the 
Holy Scriptures, of the merits of which not only 


PREFACE. 


V 


men of extensive learning are fully qualified to 
judge, but which, from their clearness of expla- 
nation, may be determined on by every class of 
readers. 

The Editor cannot find language to express 
gratitude adequate to his high conception of the 
beauty and value of the contributions. He must 
be contented in the belief that the very great 
good which these sacred pictures must effect, 
will gratify his contributors more than his 
most earnest thanks, which he here proffers 
to the excellent men who have so kindly as- 
sisted him in the design and execution of this 
valuable work. 


T. W. 

























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CONTENTS. 


Adam giving Names to Creation, 

Rev. N. L. Frothingham, D.D. Boston 1 

Enoch carried up into Heaven, 

Rev. J. B. Waterbury, D.D. Boston 9 

Noah buildeth an Altar and offereth a Sacrifice, 

Rev. F. W. Pollard Boston 14 

• > 

Abraham offering his Son Isaac for a Sacrifice, 

Rev. H. J. Morton, D.D. Philadelphia 21 

Abraham buried in the Cave of Machpelah, 

0. B. Lowe, Esq. Boston 26 

Isaac blessing Jacob, instead of Esau, 

Rev. J. P. Durbin, D.D. Philadelphia 31 

Rebekah drawing Water for Abraham’s Camels, 

Rev. J. Guernsey Charlestown 39 

Reconciliation between Jacob and Esau, 

Rev. W. P. Lunt Quincy 46 




Joseph’s Brethren selling him to the Iskmaelites, 
Rev. J. A. Benton 


Charlestown 


56 


Vlll 


CONTENTS 


Interpretation of King Pharaoh’s Two Dreams, 

Rev. W. Jenks, D.D. 

• Boston 66 

Jacob on his Death-bed blessing his Sons, 

Rev. C. A. Bartol 

• Boston 71 

Moses in the Bulrushes, 

Rev. George W. Bethune, D.D. 

• Philadelphia 78 

The Rod of Moses changed into a Serpent, 

Rev. George Richards 

• Boston 88 

The First-born of Egypt slain, 

Timotht Bigelow, Esq. 

. Boston • • 98 

Pharaoh and his Host drowned in the Red Sea, 

Rev. E. Beecher, D.D. 

• Boston 105 

Moses smiting the Rock for Water at Iloreb, 

Rev. J. B. Waterburt, D.D. 

• Boston Ill 

Moses finding the Israelites worshipping the Molten Calf, 

Rev. S. Aiken • • * • 

• Boston 119 


The Ark of the Covenant, the Altar of Incense, the Brazen Lavar, 


Rev. A. W. McClure 

r * 

. Boston 125 

The Brazen Serpent, 

• Philadelphia 131 

Balaam smiting the Ass, who speaketh before the Angel, 
Rev. James Flint, D.D. 

• Salem 137 

Joshua dividing the Waters of the River Jordan, 

Rev. Thomas Laurie 

• Boston 144 






CONTENTS. 

ix 

s. • 

/ 

Joshua commanding the Sun to stand still, 

Dr. David Newcomb 

Albany 157 

Fulfilment of Jephthah’s Rash Yow, 

Rev. George E. Ellis • 

• Charlestown 167 

Absalom slain by Joab in the Wood of Ephraim, 

Rev. G. B. Cheever, D.D. 

• New York 176 

Solomon’s Judgment, 

Rev. M. P. Stickney 

N, 

• Cambridge ...... 179 

Jeroboam ordering the Man of God to be seized, 


Rev. J. Guernsey 

• Charlestown 184 


I 


Elijah fed by the Ravens, 

Rev. W. C. Child 

• Charlestoivn 190 


1 


Elijah carried up into Heaven in the Presence of Elisha, 

Rev. N. L. Frothingham, D.D. 

• Boston 196 


The Shunamite’s Sou restored to Life, on the Prayer of Elisha, 

Rev. Thomas M. Clark Boston 206 

The Overthrow of the Army of Sennacherib, King of Assyria, 


Rev. Richard Newton 

• Philadelphia 215 

Job, in Affliction, rebuking his Wife, 

Rev. Daniel Sharp, D.D. 

■ Boston 220 

The Psalmist Playing upon the Harp, 

• Philadelphia • • • • • 226 

Daniel in the Lions’ Dcu, 

Rev. E. N. Kirk 

Boston 245 


Boston 


245 


X 


CONTENTS 


The Nativity, or Adoration of the Wise Men, 

Rev. John Wo art Boston 257 

Joseph and Mary’s Flight into Egypt, 

Rev. J. W. Alvord South Boston • • • • 266 

Christ raising Lazarus from the Dead, 

Rev. C. C. Vanarsdale, D.D. Philadelphia 272 

The Lord’s Supper, 

By the Right Rev. Bishop Henshaw Providence 291 

Christ’s Agony in the Garden, 

Rev. Chandler Robbins Boston 299 

Christ Crucified, 

Rev. A. Vinton, D.D. * Boston 306 

■* 

Christ's Ascension, 

* ' , * t 

Rev. Ephraim Peabody Sulem 311 







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SACRED TABLEAUX. 


ADAM GIVING NAMES TO CREATION. 

BY REV. N. L. FROTHINGHAM, D.D. 

This is one of the most striking pictures among the 
descriptions of the first man in Paradise. His Creator 
brings to him all the animated beings that He had formed, 
“to see what he would call them.” However strange 
this may seem to us, it forms a natural part of the sacred 
tradition. It could not well have been omitted in the 
general design. At least, it has its significance in the 
place where it belongs. Every one must acknowledge, 
whatever his particular view may be of that ancient 
narrative, that an idea of some kind is intended to be 
expressed in every part of it. The problem is, to get at 
that idea, underneath the peculiar form in which it is 
presented. I will endeavor to solve this problem. 

Adam gives its name to every creature, as it is brought 
to him for that express purpose by the Universal Lord. 
What can be more puerile, some may exclaim, than such 
a representation ? Well, it comes from the earth’s boy- 
hood ; and who would expect or desire that it should be 


2 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


in a style different from the one that is so perfectly suited 
to it ? If we examine it, we shall see that it contains 
truths that are worth the notice of the maturest wisdom. 

It implies, first, that power over the inferior orders of 
existence which God has delegated to man. Adam, in 
this painting, stands between the Almighty and them. 
He is in the attitude of a superior, commissioned to exer- 
cise authority upon them. The very act of naming them 
is an act of authority. It indicates command. When 
the Psalmist would extol the sovereignty of God, he says, 
“ He telleth all the stars by their names.” The prophet 
Isaiah, also, uses the same form of speech.* Here, then, 
we have a repetition of what had been uttered in words 
before : “ Have dominion over the fish of the sea, and 
the fowl of the air, and every thing that moveth upon the 
earth.” This dominion is referred to in other parts of 
the Scriptures, as if it was a favorite thought. f And 
indeed, the sway that man exerts over all his fellow- 
tenants of the globe, is among the most remarkable 
things in his history. How wonderfully they are all 
made to serve him, for food or raiment ; for his need, or 
convenience, or luxury ! The strongest and the wildest 
are subdued to his use. He outwits the craftiest. He 
outstrips or tires down the fleetest. The huge elephant 
of the torrid zone, who could trample out his life and 
scarcely feel that any thing was under his foot, or toss 
him into the air like a ball, with his snaky hand, l stoops 


* Isaiah, 40 : 26. | Especially in the 8th Psalm. 

t “ Anguimanos Elephantos.” — Lucretim. 


ADAM GIVING NAMES TO CREATION. 


B 


down to receive his weight, or marches to help his battles. 
The huger whale of the polar seas is compelled to furnish 
light, for his dwelling. The bear is pursued over the ice, 
to supply warmth for his limbs. He reaches the fish at 
the bottom of the water, and brings down the birds from 
their flight in the sky. The tiger of the Indian jungle 
has been known to quail before the determination of his 
eye, and the lion and the panther are trained to leap over 
his arm as if they were spaniels. The worm and the bee 
bring their contributions to him ; one spinning for his 
manufactories, and the other a confectioner for his table. 
Thus the small as well as the large sign themselves his 
subjects. He is crowned with this glory and honor. 

Again, we here receive notice of that great faculty 
of speech, which distinguishes him from the creatures 
about him. They cannot speak to one another except in 
the inarticulate cries of nature ; but he names them all, 
through that varied utterance which the Divine Spirit 
has breathed upon his lips. The gift of language is so 
kingly an endowment, that he could have attained to none 
of his eminence without it. How could he have arrived 
at his civilization, or felt his united strength, — how could 
he have built up knowledge, or even a brick tower, # if he 
had been dumb ? Speech was one of the leading points 
of his supremacy. How, then, could it fail to be referred 
to, in an account that, described his first launch into 
being ? Therefore he names the animals. Not that this 
was accomplished at once, and by a single incident. He 


* Genesis, 11 : 3, 4. 


4 


SACKED TABLEAUX. 


has hardly achieved it yet. But how natural it is, that 
this should be described as his first essay in the use of 
that tongue, which has been called “the glory of his 
frame ! ” No sooner can the little child pronounce those 
simplest of syllables, by which it points out father and 
mother, than it is taught to imitate the sounds that the 
creatures utter, and to call them by corresponding names. 
This is among its earliest lessons in the art, that is so 
to occupy and shape all after life. And is there not 
something significant in the place it fills here ? We can 
hardly help feeling that there is. We can hardly doubt 
that the sacred writer intended thus to depict our primal 
ancestor, as ruling by his mouth and word, and not by a 
mere brute power or subtlety like their own, over the 
meaner tribes of creation. 

There is one other idea suggested, besides the two that 
have been mentioned. Adam here exhibits to us, in a 
figure, the discerning mind of man, observing all the 
varieties and distinctions of things, and passing his 
decisions upon the universe. A single instance of this 
discrimination images all the rest. He who divides ani- 
mate nature into its several kinds, — and he must divide 
in order to denominate, — extends the same intellectual 
operation to every thing else. This leads to the classi- 
fying of whatever exists, whether actually present to the 
senses, or shaped only by the inner faculties. And this 
is science. It is at least the origin and condition of all 
science. It was well fitted, therefore, to represent the 
inquisitive and apprehending spirit of man ; ranging 
through the whole domain of things, of which he is 


ADAM GIVING NAMES TO CREATION. 


5 


himself so small and transient a part ; seeking every- 
where to name and to know ; dividing, collecting, gen- 
eralizing ; arranging the insects and mosses in ranks, and 
grouping the stars in constellations ; and devising methods 
by which the most subtile operations of his own under- 
standing and the shadowy forms of his thought find their 
distinct provinces. He classes with as much ease the 
truths that are open only to his mental perception, as he 
does the grossest substances. Not only does “ whatsoever 
passeth through the paths of the sea” pass under the 
criticism of his research, but all that floats in the greater 
deeps of his imagination, affections, and conscience, comes 
under the judgments of an inner sense, the highest that 
he possesses. They all assume the respective titles that 
he assigns. They all obey the mysterious laws that rule 
over him and them. 

Thus there are three leading ideas contained in the 
picture at the head of this article. But this is the flat- 
tering side. It tells only of distinctions and privileges. 
It alludes only to dominion, and speech, and knowledge, 
as the attributes of man. It has not an intimation of his 
subjection, his dumbness, his stupid and wicked follies. 
It does not even include the decree “ Thou shalt surely 
die.” It does not offer a glimpse of what is written on 
the reverse of the shining medal ; gloomy and terrible 
lines, and many of them. But there are a few reflections 
which maybe set over against the three prerogatives that 
have been mentioned, and may well abate their presump- 
tion. Man does indeed bear rule over the creation as 


6 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


God’s viceregent. But if we look on the other side, we 
shall perceive that it is not all triumph. It is true that 
he can put yoke and harness upon wild beasts ; but yet 
he trembles at a mouse or a spider, and the insects of 
a short summer levy war against him. There are some 
sharp challenges put to him, that he is poorly able to 
answer, in the book of Job, where the Lord speaks out 
of the whirlwind. He flies in his turn from the animal 
he pursues. The sting of a little asp is more than his 
utmost strength can bear. It is dangerous for him to 
provoke the resentment even of the things that he despises. 
Those that are so minute as to elude the notice of his eye, 
may steal into the avenues of the blood and make him 
their prey. He is taught in many humbling ways that 
he is a sharer with them in a domain that none possess 
long, dependent on the same decrees by which they are 
governed, and on the same bounty by which they are fed. 
Again, he has speech. He invents languages. What a 
divine faculty ! What an acquisition, that even now 
puzzles all his philosophy to tell how it was accomplished ! 
But what does St. James say of the unruly tongue, but 
that it is in itself “ a world of iniquity ; ” remaining 
untamable while “ every kind of beasts hath been tamed 
of mankind?” It frames deceit. It utters violence. 
It tells lies. It pronounces injustice. It bears false 
witness against a neighbor, and blasphemes God. It 
sows the air with disputes. It sheds the poison of 
corrupting doctrines and burning passions into the 
bosom of society. If it names, it misnames often ; con- 
founding right and wrong ; giving honorable titles to what 


ADAM GIVING NAMES TO CREATION. 


7 


has no claim to honor, and demeaning with base epithets 
the noblest qualities. “ Whatsoever he calls every living 
creature, that is the name thereof.” But when he comes 
to pronounce upon the different forms of appetite and 
passion that lurk in his heart or run wild over his con- 
duct, — the venomous worms, and unclean birds, and evil 
beasts that are engendered within him, in the very garden 
of his life, — how apt is he then to use a nomenclature 
that God will not confirm ! His Natural History is well 
enough disposed in every department ; but his moral 
sentiments and soul’s history are left a confusion. He 
is capable of science, too ; exact, diversified, abundant. 
He amasses knowledge, which of itself is power. But 
how much he misapprehends, and how much he abuses ! 
Nothing is more common than the perversion of intellect. 
The records of our kind are filled with the weaknesses 
and errors of the human understanding. How far short 
it falls, when it would unfold the mysteries of Providence 
in our being and lot ! Many things that we are most 
anxious to ascertain cannot be taught ; and he who has 
learned the most, is ignorant of incomparably more than 
he knows. 

And now, reader, as you turn over the page that 
contains our picture, receive some admonition from it. 
Bear meekly every endowment, for it is according to the 
measure that God gives. Use faithfully every privilege, 
for it renders you the more responsible to him. Do not 
become a tyrant where he has appointed you a master. 
Do not put the tongue that he has made articulate to 
any dishonest service. Do not employ such mind and 


8 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


information as he has bestowed upon any thing incon- 
sistent with his praise. If you govern the lower world, 
learn to govern your lower affections. If you give names 
to creation, remember that you call upon that Almighty 
Being who has named to you himself. If you pride 
yourself at any time upon the proficiency of which you 
are capable, in any branch of this world’s instruction, 
never forget that moral deficiencies will render the most 
excellent of it unavailing ; that you forfeit your best 
earthly patrimony, when you fall from obedience and 
grace ; and that there is no root of wisdom but in the 
fear of the Lord. 


ENOCH CARRIED UP INTO HEAVEN. 


BY REV. J. B. WATERBURY, D.D. 


The particulars of Enoch’s translation not having been 
a matter of record, can be only a matter of conjecture. 
Furnished with but a naked outline, the imagination is 
strongly tempted to fill out the picture. We see the 
man of God, moving like some celestial visitor, among 
the masses of impurity that surround him. A seraph’s 
wing, flashing across the murky atmosphere of earth, 
could not appear brighter than the piety of Enoch in 
that age of revolting depravity. 

Worldliness, and lust, and violence, had risen to a 
fearful pitch among the descendants of Cain. They are 
represented, by the apostle Jude, as ungodly men, prac- 
tising ungodly deeds, and uttering fearful imprecations 
against Jehovah himself. The first murderer builds a 
city to perpetuate the fame of his lineage. But in that 
city, so far as we are informed, there is no altar for sacri- 
fice, and no temple for the worship of the true God. 
His descendants, in one line, spread themselves out over 
the earth as shepherds but no lamb of their flock bleeds 
as a symbol of expiation. Another branch know how to 
handle the harp and the organ ; but the strains which these 
instruments breathe are not “ like David’s harp of solemn 


10 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


sound.” They serve, more probably, to regulate the 
dance, or to give impulse to the revel. Still another 
branch are artificers in brass and iron, exerting their 
strength to fabricate instruments of torture and weapons 
of destruction. Longevity affords opportunity for dreadful 
developments. The very atmosphere becomes tainted as 
with a moral pestilence. How uncongenial is such a 
scene and such a community to the feelings of one who 
walks with God ! Yet for more than three hundred years 
does Enoch endure their revilings, whilst he bears testi- 
mony against their crimes. Finding them deaf to his 
remonstrances, witnessing their disgusting depravity with- 
out the hope of lessening it, he sighs ,for the more con- 
genial assembly of the blessed. We may suppose him to 
have given utterance to these longings, somewhat in the 
language of another devout spirit : “ 0 Lord, gather 
not my soul with sinners, nor my life with bloody men.” 
“ 0, that I had the wings of a dove, for then would I fly 
away and be at rest.” How sweet, in the midst of such 
aspirations, to hear the wheels of God’s chariot making 
music on the air, and sent to convey him where “ the 
wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.” 
Ascending, perhaps, some Olivet, he sheds his last tears, 
and utters his last solemn warning. Sweet intimations 
may have been given him, of his miraculous departure. 
He may have caught the distant sound of those gates 
“ on golden hinges turning,” or have felt about him the 
soft wings of that angel-escort who w r ere ready to attend 
his triumph. The body, that curious machinery which is 
broken down by the stroke of death, may have begun, in 


ENOCH CARRIED IJP INTO HEAVEN. 


11 


his case, to wear a lustre like that of the sun. So much 
of heaven is shining through it, that its mortal aspects 
are fast disappearing. In sublime solitude, or surrounded 
by astonished witnesses, as the event may have been, 
Enoch takes his flight to glory. “ He saw not death.” 
He looked not upon the face of the king of terrors. Ho 
preliminary sufferings, no death-pang, no sad farewells, 
no funeral train, no dark sepulchre entered into his experi- 
ence. The valley of shadows was bridged for him ; and, 
unlike other mortals, he reached the state of perfect bliss 
without being obliged to pass through the dark avenue of 
death. “In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, he 
was changed.” From his new-born existence he leaves 
not behind him even the chrysalis vestment of mortality. 

In Enoch’s translation, the final triumph of grace over 
sin seems to have been anticipated. The victory which 
is to reach the imprisoned body in the tomb, is gloriously 
foreshadowed. In Enoch’s passage to the skies, we behold 
a type of the risen dead. It points out the great fore- 
runner taking his last look of earth — pronouncing his 
benediction on his awe-stricken disciples*— -and then calmly 
ascending up to heaven. It shows clearly that, though we 
may not all sleep, we shall all be changed ; and that the 
resurrection of Jesus is the sure pledge and the glorious 
first-fruits of a general resurrection of believers to ever- 
lasting life. 

Enoch’s translation was a sublime miracle. We may 
not talk of physical impossibilities when the power of God 
is concerned, 66 for with God all things are possible.” 
The worm that disgusts us one day is the beautiful insect 


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with golden wings that attracts our admiration the next. 
The same Almighty power can work upon the vestments 
of mortality, and produce therefrom a form bright and 
beautiful as a winged seraph. The body of a believer, 
■when risen, is to bear a resemblance to Christ’s glorious 
body. “ Though sown in corruption, it is to be raised in 
incorruption. Though sown in weakness, it is to be raised 
in power. Though sown a natural body, it is to be raised 
a spiritual body.” It is to leave behind its former features 
of infirmity, and wear a clarified excellence that shall 
adapt it to the scenes and the circumstanees of its rest. 

The miracles that have been are but as the types of 
the miracles that are yet to be. The closing scenes of 
this great drama of human existence — including the 
risen dead and the rewards and retributions that follow — 
will bring into view the power of God and the glory of God, 
on a scale of grandeur never before witnessed. Earth 
and sea will be alive with uprisen men. Chariots of fire 
and horses of fire may be seen traversing the concave of 
heaven. An angelic retinue, brighter than the mid-day 
sun, will encircle the descending throne of the great Judge 
of quick and dead. That mysterious curtain, spangled 
with its ten thousand stars, which has for so many ages 
hid from our view the greater mysteries that lie beyond, 
will roll back like a scroll, and let in upon us the over- 
whelming light of eternity. 


“ Amazing period ! When each mountain-height 
Outburns Vesuvius ; rocks eternal pour 
Their melted mass, as rivers once they poured ; 
Stars rush, and final Ruin fiercely drives 


ENOCH CARRIED UP INTO HEAVEN. 


13 


Her ploughshare o’er Creation ! — while aloft, 

More than astonishment ! if more can be ! 

Far other firmament than e’er was seen, 

Than e’er was thought by man ! far other stars ! 

Stars animate, that govern these of fire ; 

Far other sun ! — A Sun, 0 how unlike 
The Babe at Bethlehem ! how unlike the Man 
That groaned on Calvary ! — yet He it is ; 

That Man of sorrows ! 0, how changed ! what pomp ! 

In grandeur terrible all Heaven descends ! ” 

Enoch’s translation, though a glorious event in the 
history of good men, is perhaps a less striking illustra- 
tion of the power of faith, than where death, instead of 
being evaded, is met and conquered. If all believers 
were translated like Enoch, or charioted to heaven by 
horses of fire like Elijah, how much would Christianity 
lose, in her manifested power to disrobe death of its 
terrors ! How many a Christian, clad in the panoply of 
faith, has marched fearlessly to the confines of the grave ! 
Death, in many cases, has been scarcely less than a trans- 
lation. The believer has passed the dark valley, with the 
air of a conqueror and the song of an exulting faith ; 
uttering from lips almost cold in death those heaven- 
inspired words, “ 0 death, where is thy sting ? 0 grave, 
where is thy victory? ” 


2 


NOAH BUILDETH AN ALTAR, AND OFFERETH A SACRIFICE. 


BY KEY. F. W. POLLARD. 

Sole Star descried in that tempestuous night, 

Sole thing of life in that o’erwhelming blight, 

Christ was in thee enshrined ! 

From “The Cathepral.” 

How majestic is the Patriarch’s attitude on the day of 
the old world’s renewal ! How significant his first act, on 
that day of reconciliation — that day of the covenant ! 
An act of remembrance — an act of commemoration. He 
“ offered burnt-offerings on the altar, and the Lord smelled 
a sweet savor,” more literally rendered a savor of rest. 
“ God remembered Noah.” Noah remembered God ; he 
remembered his mercy and his justice likewise ; he remem- 
bered the world’s sin, and the world’s doom ; he remembered 
the Ark of Salvation ; he remembered the atonement, and 
therefore he “ builded an altar” and offered thereon. In 
other words, he rebuilt the altar and continued the offering. 
For thus we view him ; the priest of the Most High God — 
type and representative of his Son; the commemorator 
of “ the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world.” 
How majestic, then, we repeat, his attitude ! How signifi- 
cant his act at that altar ! The earth, fresh and purified 
beneath his feet, — the lustration made by God’s own 


rial/' , I //.2. 




W. LOnnnby. Now York . 


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NOAH BUILDETH AN ALTAR. 


15 


hand, — the Dove, with her Olive of Peace, overshad- 
owing his head ; the windows of heaven, opening above 
him in clemency, not judgment; pouring down grace, 
not wrath ; the Almighty arm, extending from them 
the signal of promise, the token of remembrance, the 
beautiful emblem of comfort and rest to his beloved ! 
What an object for the Christian’s special and earnest 
contemplation is this Noah ! As a patriarch, venerable 
for his years; as a “just man,” and a “preacher of 
righteousness,” more venerable still, but most of all ven- 
erable as the Lord’s anointed, — 

“ The dust of time is on him, and Christ’s mark.” 

0, day of salvation for him, when, after the long night of 
death, “ God remembered Noah ! ” 0, day of salvation 

for us, when Noah remembered the eternal Son ! His 
ark of wood becomes 

“ A temple of strange power,” — 

his pile of stones an altar, flashing with precious jewels 
of ransom. Light and truth glow in his bow of promise 
in “ glorious constellations,” such as, in after years, shone 

“ On Aaron’s holier breast.” 


Through the door of the ark, we see the Church of the 
Redeemer ; beneath the patriarch’s mortal garb, we see 
the everlasting priesthood ; and under the bloody veil of 
his oblation, is discerned the Lamb of God. We see the 


16 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


offering made in remembrance of him ; for, although it is 
customary to speak of such sacrifices as typical merely, as 
only foreshadowing the Cross, yet they were also most 
truly commemorative, inasmuch as the essence of the sac- 
rifice of Christ had been already offered in heaven. It 
was offered before the throne of God and accepted, when 
the eternal Son said, “ Lo ! I come, to do thy will,” — I 
am content to do it. The Lamb slain from the world’s 
foundation, the Lamb that taketh away the world’s sin, 
is,, and ever has been, the one object of the Church’s 
faith and worship ; and therefore all succeeding sacrifices, 
whether offered by patriarch, apostle, Levitical priest, or 
apostolic, — whether offered in type, in shadow, ot* in 
element and spiritual substance, all w r ere and are strictly 
commemorative. The expiation w T as made at the very 
time when the sin of the Fall created the necessity for it. 
The blood shed on Calvary’ was but the immolation of the 
victim offered in the “ ages all along ” before - . The 
immolation on earth was a horrible crime, — the act of a 
Pilate or a Caiaphas. The true sacrifice, the accepted 
oblation, was the free offering of himself by the only- 
begotten and well-beloved Son, in heaven. An offering 
made once for all by him, both victim and priest. But 
it was necessary that there .should be on earth a standing 
memorial of the oblation made in heaven, in order that 
the sin requiring such sacrifice — the sin, and the penalty, 
and the expiation — might be kept constantly in view of 
the transgressor, man ; that he might never lose sight of 
the condition of his soul ; that he might never lose sight 
of the Fall ; that he might never lose sight of the Re- 


NOAH BUILD ETH AN ALTAR. 


IT 


deemer. This standing memorial was of a bloody form, 
until the time of the true victim’s immolation, when, by 
Christ’s own institution, it took the form of the clean 
oblation, to be continued down to the end of time ; for if, 
before the sacred blood was actually shed, there was a 
necessity for commemorating the offering of the Lamb in 
heaven, surely the same necessity would exist ever after- 
ward, “ until we all come, in the unity of the faith, and of 
the knowledge of the Son of God, unto the measure of 
the stature of the fulness of Christ.” For upon what was 
the necessity for commemoration founded ? Upon man’s 
spiritual forgetfulness ; upon his tendency to forget the 
fall from innocence, and to forget its atonement. Thus 
it became necessary for Divine Providence to ordain a 
“ perpetual memory” of those two most momentous events 
in the history of our world, that they might be always 
before the human eye, and, in the most impressive cere- 
monial of their constant solemnization, affect the human 
heart through the medium of the outer sense. Thus there 
could be no excuse for spiritual inattention, for spiritual 
obliviousness. With the altar of remembrance ever in 
view, and the symbolic and eucharistic oblation ever upon 
it, how could the unseen, thus symbolized, thus commem- 
orated, be forgotten ? The heart of man being the same 
ip all time, having the same tendency in all ages of the 
world, to estrange itself from God and the spiritual life, 
the necessity for a remembrancer must always exist. 
And as, before the death of Christ, it founded the bloody 
remembrancer in the Church of the Levites and of the 
Patriarchs, so it instituted the unbloody remembrancer in 


18 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


the Church of the Apostles, to be celebrated after the 
death of Christ “ until he come.” And thus we now 
have, for u the blood of bulls and of goats, and the ashes 
of an heifer sprinkling the unclean,” that pure oblation 
which Malachi foretold should be offered from the rising 
to the setting sun. Thus is continued that august memo- 
rial set up when man fell in Eden ; renewed after the 
flood, on the altar that “ Noah builded ; ” confirmed on 
the plains of Mamre with Abraham, and solemnly installed 
in the wilderness of Sinai, and in the splendor of Mount 
Moriah. Here, then, we see the unity, and the beauty, 
and the strength, and the perpetuity, of Christ’s Church. 
Her God, her sacrifice, her priesthood, her final cause, 
one ! How comprehensive is her union ! How enlarged 
the borders of her tabernacle ! What ancient ground she 
covers ! How hoary with time is her altar of reconciliation ! 
How venerable the company of the shepherds of her flock ! 
— “ some patriarchs, some prophets, some apostles, some 
pastors and teachers ; for the perfecting of the saints, for 
the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of 
Christ.” And thus for the remembrance of Christ, — 
thus to make the commemoration true and acceptable, — 
thus to make the church 

The living shrine 

Wherein the angel of the presence dwells,” — 

thus to make her daily offering the pure oblation of Mal- 
achi, and the “tremendous mysteries ” of Chrysostom and 
Augustine, and thus to unite heaven and earth in the 
eternal commemoration of him who is worthy. Hie in 


NOAH BUILDETH AN ALTAR. 


19 


imagine (as St. Ambrose says), Ibi in veritate : ”, the 
image here, the reality there. See, then, the majesty of 
the patriarch’s attitude. See the significance and the 
effectiveness of his act at that altar. He “ offered burnt- 
offerings ” thereon, and “ the Lord smelled a savor of 
rest.” Solomon, in all his glory, was not arrayed like 
this ancient priest. Kings have been styled the “ shadow 
of God,” but 

“ In his priesthood he himself is here, 

And virtue goeth from him.” 

Strip this man of his symbolic attire, degrade him 
from his sacerdotal rank, efface his priestly character, 
deny his mission from on high, his unction from the Holy 
One, and what is there left ? What is he ? An antedi- 
luvian relic ! an object of interest only to the antiquary. 
And what is the earth, on which he stands ? Still deso- 
late, unblest, unforgiven ; spared by the flood, yet reserved 
for the judgment fire ! But the earth was to be no more 
desolate. The waters of death were the waters of Baptism 
also ; and henceforth, there was to be a “ chosen genera- 
tion, a royal priesthood.” “ God remembered Noah.” God 
remembered his Son. He “ said in his heart, I will not 
curse the ground again, for man’s sake.” “ The Lord 
smelled a sweet savor,” a “ savor of rest,” in the incense 
of Noah’s commemoration. 0, rest, 0, peace, “ passing 
all understanding,” — 

“ Thou comest to us in strange beauty,” 

made white in the blood of the Lamb. Thus the patriarch 


20 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


received the peace of God ; and thus he symbolized and 
assured it to the future Church, in his office, in his official 
ministration, and in his very name, Noah (rest, comfort), 
as he stood and offered at the altar that he “ builded to 
the Lord.” Look at him ; for he represents the u Great 
High Priest.” His ark is the Church built before the 
flood ! built on the living Rock. His altar symbolizes the 
Lamb in the midst of the throne. His burnt-offering is 
the emblem of the Lamb slain. His “ dove of many 
hues,” yet bearing the sign of union, the sign of recon- 
ciliation, signifies the one Holy Spirit — the one “ glorious 
body.” His bow in the cloud, of varied colors, yet 
blended in one, betokens the beauty and the unity of the 
domed city it spans — the city of God — the new Jeru- 
salem ! Verily the tabernacle of Noah’s rest, and of 
ours, is “ that which was prepared from the beginning by 
him with whom wisdom was.” 


ABRAHAM OFFERING HIS SON ISAAC FOR A SACRIFICE. 


BY REV. H. J. MORTON, D.D. 


In modern times, the spectacle of an altar built up in 
the dark solitude of a mountain forest, upon that altar the 
body of a human being bound and trembling, a father 
standing over him with an unsheathed knife which he was 
about to bury in the bosom of his offspring, and the whole 
dark tragedy to be concluded by consuming the body of 
the victim -with the pile on which it was laid, — such a 
scene, now witnessed, would freeze the blood with unmin- 
gled horror ! We should rush forward to arrest the 
uplifted hand of benighted fanaticism ; yea, smite to earth 
the mad and cruel actor in a scene so atrocious and so 
unnatural ! Such feelings of abhorrence, even though we 
knew the sacrifice to be one of religious character, would 
be sound and just, for unto man was never committed the 
providing of that human victim, in the shedding of whose 
blood there should be remission of sins. The voice of 
God has ever spoken in condemnation of those acts of his 
creatures whereby human blood is shed, unless the victim 
has incurred the penalty of the law. Never has God- 
regarded, but with deepest indignation, or noticed, save 
with denunciation of wrath, the attempts of men to bring 
human sacrifices to his altars ! But the conduct of the 


22 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


patriarch Abraham was distinguished from all analogous 
actions by many and important points of difference. It 
was God, not Abraham, who had provided the victim. 
It was the voice of God, and not the promptings of the 
parent’s heart, which commanded the sacrifice. Looking 
at the patriarch through the medium of Christianity, and 
giving to this wonderful scene on Mount Moriah the illu- 
mination of motive, which he who reads the heart of man 
has disclosed for our instruction, — the images of super- 
stition, fanaticism, and cruelty disappear from around that 
mountain altar, and we see the aged patriarch compassed 
by a holy light of obedience and faith ! Nay, we behold 
the patriarch in a still more impressive light we mark 
him acting out and shadowing forth the thrilling scenes 
which, ages after, were to be witnessed on Calvary. The 
sacrifice of Isaac was but a type of the sacrifice of Christ. 
Mount Moriah was but a shadow of Mount Calvary. The 
patriarch was not merely an obedient servant of God ; on 
that memorable occasion he was a great prophet, telling 
of things to come by his deeds as well as by his prophetic 
language. The first feature in the sacrifice of Isaac, 
which guides the mind to the sacrifice of Christ, is its 
voluntary character. By this we mean to say, that not 
only was the father willing to offer up his son, but the son 
also (like him who offered himself freely for our sins) was 
ready to submit to the stroke of death from the hands of 
his parent. This is a fact seldom if ever noticed. We 
think of Isaac as a child — as a very young child — as 
one who could hardly have had a will of his own, and who 
certainly was not possessed of strength to accomplish that 


ABRAHAM OFFERING HIS SON. 


23 


will, in opposition to his parent. But this is not correct. 
Isaac, at the time of the commanded sacrifice, was at least 
seventeen, or, according to Josephus, twenty-five years 
old, and consequently quite able to resist the purposes of 
his parent, fast sinking into the weakness of old age ; for 
Abraham had now numbered no less than one hundred 
and thirteen years of his earthly pilgrimage. When, 
therefore, we see the pious resignation of the youth ; 
when we observe him make no effort to escape ; offer no 
remonstrance, no resistance, but calmly submit to a fate 
which he might have averted ; how forcibly are our minds 
led onward to think of him, who, in after days, submitted 
to the stroke . of death, though fully able to resist its 
power ; of him who was led as a lamb to the slaughter, 
and, as a sheep dumb before her shearers, opened not his 
mouth ; who, submitting to the appointed sacrifice of him- 
self, declared “ no man taketh it (my life) from me, but 
I lay it down of myself.” John 10 : 18. In vain does 
the foe of Christianity set forth the sacrifice of Christ as 
a vindictive act unworthy of Divine love, and therefore 
not to be considered as decreed and ordered by God. 
The sacrifice of the Saviour was like the contemplated 
one of Isaac, a voluntary offering. Full of mystery 
we will freely grant, but full also of signs of love, and 
wholly exempt from all trace of cruelty. But not only 
was the voluntary nature of Isaac’s offering of himself 
a striking illustration of the Saviour’s sacrifice, the rela- 
tion in which the actors in these two scenes stood 
to each other, was another feature. In the case of 
Abraham, it was a father delivering to death an only 


24 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


son, well beloved, in whom were centered many prom- 
ises, which, to the eye of human reason, must be made 
utterly void by the death "of the individual. What could 
Abraham reasonably hope from his son Isaac, when that 
son was dead, and his body burned to ashes on the altar 
of wood ? How, after this dread tragedy had been closed, 
could God’s promise be fulfilled, and all the nations of 
the earth be blessed in Isaac and his seed ? Precisely 
thus was it in the sacrifice of Christ. Here, too, a father, 
so it is revealed to us in his own word, here, too, a father 
offered up his only and well-beloved Son : u This is my 
beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased and to human 
eyes his death destroyed all those glorious promises which 
God had made dependent upon his sacrifice ! While the 
Saviour was yet alive, the apostles and followers believed 
that he would be the Redeemer of Israel ; but when he 
foretold his approaching death upon the cross, — and still 
more, when that prophecy was fulfilled, and the Saviour 
hung, wan and motionless, on the darkening hill of blood, 
all their hopes perished. God’s promises in Christ Jesus 
seemed to have failed, and his sad disciples shrunk back 
in dismay from the faces of their persecutors. It was 
only after the great event, that they understood its mean- 
ing and realized its benefits ; and it was only when Abra- 
ham had laid down his knife and descended from the altar 
on Mount Moriah, that he fully understood the reason of 
his trial and the benefit about to flow therefrom. Then 
at last “ he saw the day of Christ, and was glad ! ” 

We dwell not now on the circumstance, that, as Isaac 
carried on his own shoulders the wood which was to form 


ABRAHAM OFFERING HIS SON. 


25 


the altar of sacrifice, so, too, did Jesus bear the. cross on 
which he was to suffer ; nor that, as Isaac was to suffer 
alone, the servants having been left behind, so, too, 
Christ must tread the wine-press alone, .all his disciples 
having forsaken him and fled. Nor shall we stay longer 
than barely to record the fact that Calvary was a part of 
the same mountain of Moriah where Abraham’s faith was 
tried, and where it triumphed gloriously ! Enough has 
already been said to show that the sacrifice of Isaac was 
highly significant of the sacrifice of Christ, and that the 
action of Abraham on that occasion was prophetic. Thus, 
as by the rending of his garments one prophet signified 
the rending away of the kingdom from his master, and 
as another set forth the decay and destruction of Jerusar 
lem, by burying a linen girdle near the Euphrates, and 
leaving it there till it had mouldered and decayed, so 
did Abraham, by his significant acts on the mountain of 
Moriah, show forth the still more solemn scene which was 
to occur in after ages on the same hill, no longer covered 
with a forest, but adorned with a temple, and girded round 
by a goodly city. 


ABRAHAM BURIED IN THE CAYE OF MACHPELAH, BY 
HIS SONS. 

BY O. B. LOWE, ESQ. 

Among the many incidents in the sacred writings upon 
which the mind delights to contemplate, and in so doing 
derive instruction as well as pleasure, the scene here pre- 
sented, of the two sons of Abraham burying their father 
in the cave of Machpelah, is most fruitful in the thought 
it suggests, and the lessons of duty and paternal affection 
which it imparts. 

We are led to look back and review the life of the prin- 
cipal of the personages here represented. Abraham, who 
had received the promise of God, that “ in his seed all the 
nations of the earth should be blessed , 55 in early life had 
been a worshipper of idols ; but God giving him a better 
understanding, he was led to renounce idolatry, for which, 
according to tradition, he suffered persecution from the 
Chaldeans. Afterwards, he is directed by God into the 
Land of Promise, to possess it, that the inheritance may 
be his, — “a land flowing with milk and honey . 55 After 
his arrival in Canaan he was obliged, on account of a 
great famine in that land, to go down into Egypt, where 
Pharaoh, captivated by the beauty of his wife Sarah, took 
her forcibly from him, intending to add her to the number 


\ 



■ 


\\' L.Omisbv, New York 





ABRAHAM BURIED BY HIS SONS. 


27 


of wives already possessed by that wicked king ; but this 
sin was not allowed to go unpunished, for God afflicted 
Pharaoh with great plagues, and caused him to restore to 
Abraham the wife of his bosom. 

The famine having ceased, Abraham returned to Ca- 
naan, and received renewed assurances that his posterity 
should be as numerous as the stars in the firmament of 
heaven. Not long after his return, we find him visited 
by three angels, on their way to inflict divine vengeance 
upon the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah ; and, with true 
Oriental hospitality, he entreats them to eat with him, and, 
according to the custom of those times, washes their feet. 
The news of the intended destruction of those wicked 
cities afflicted his heart, and Abraham prayed to God, 
that if fifty righteous persons might be found therein, the 
cities might be spared; but no such number could be 
found within their walls. The pious patriarch prays and 
intercedes, again and again, till he had reduced the 
number to ten, but this number, alas ! was wanting, to 
stay the avenging hand, righteous Lot being the only 
person saved from the awful devastation. Abraham and 
Sarah being now settled in their promised possession, ac- 
cording to the predictions of the angels, he had a son bom 
to him in his old age, whom he called Isaac. It is natural 
to infer that a child born many years after any other, and 
when the parents are well stricken in years, must be the 
infant favorite, and consequently, the concentration of the 
parents’ deepest affections. This, we find, was the case, 
and a very natural one ; for Ishmael became jealous of the 
affection shown to Isaac, and at the importunities of 


28 


SACKED TABLEAUX. 


Sarah, his wife, Abraham reluctantly removed both Ish- 
mael and his mother from his household. Isaac had 
reached the age of twenty-five years, when God w T as 
pleased to test the faith of his servant Abraham, by com- 
manding him to offer: his beloved son Isaac, a sacrifice, 
on a mountain which he would show to him. This, truly, 
was a trial of faith, an affliction of no trifling importance ; 
but does the faithful Abraham shrink from * discharging 
this most heart-rending duty ? No ! On the contrary, 
he obediently makes preparation for the intended journey. 
He goes still further, he provides the fuel for the sacri- 
fice ; and, with his son and his servants, proceeds towards 
Mount Moriah. When the chilling question is put to him 
from his beloved child, “ Where is the lamb, my father ? ” 
who can paint the feelings of the good old man ? Who 
can describe the emotions lacerating the heart of a de- 
voted parent ? The question is pressed further, “ Behold 
the fire and the wood, but where is the victim for a burnt- 
offering ?” We can well conceive the intensity of the 
paternal feelings, aroused by such a question. But does 
the patriarch betray them ? No ! He stifles the feeling 
of natural affection, in a sense of duty to his God, and 
answers calmly, “ God will provide a sacrifice ! ” .The 
sequel is familiar to all, and we forbear to follow it fur- 
ther, but turn to another portion of the life of Abraham. 

We find this good old man, with his thoughts directed 
to the grave. He is bereft of .one — the dearest to him 
on earth — the wife of his earlier years, and the solace of 
a long and painful life. Sarah is dead ! The aged patri- 
arch, possessed of the same feelings, and giving utterance 


ABRAHAM BURIED BY HIS SONS. 


29 


to the same language four thousand years ago that all 
of us at present would feel and utter, when, by the- loss 
of one near and dear to us, we are reminded that 

“ Our lives are rivers gliding free, 

To that unfathomed, boundless sea — 

The silent grave ! 

Thither all earthly pomp and boast 
Roll, to be swallowed up and lost, 

In one dark grave ! ” 

— the afflicted patriarch, having no sepulchre in that 
country, solicits a resting-place for the partner of his joys. 
“ We are strangers,” says he, “ and sojourners here ; 
we have need of a burying-place, that we may bury our 
dead out of our sight. Give us the field and the cave 
that is therein, and the trees that are in the field, and in 
the borders round about, and let them be made sure, for 
a possession of a burying-place.” The cave of Machpelah 
is sold to him ; and with due solemnities, according with 
the rites of that country, he deposits therein the remains 
of his aged partner, impressed with the certainty, that 
soon other hands would perform the same sad office for 
him. 

The time arrives when the aged patriarch, who had 
received “ the blessing of God in all things,” should give 
up the ghost and die full of years ; and he is borne by 
the hands of his sons, Isaac and Ishmael, to the cave of 
Machpelah, and placed therein, by the side of his wife 
Sarah. 

What a scene is here presented ! What a lesson of 
duty and affection ! Abraham had, in obedience to the 


30 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


principle of duty, not long, before made preparation to 
sacrifice his dearly-b'elqved son Isaac ; he likewise, in 
obedience to the same principle, sent Ishmael to the 
wilderness to perish — not consulting the dictates of his 
own feelings, but obeying the will and command of God. 
Isaac and Ishmael, not unmindful of the faithfulness of 
their father to his God, and his affection for them during 
his life — now that he is dead — forget their supposed 
injuries, in the thought that they were inflicted, not accord- 
ing to his own will, but in compliance with the command 
of God. 

It may be interesting here to state,. that Abraham’s 
tomb — the first instance of a family burying-place on 
record — is said tQ have been discovered near Hebron, 
in the year 1119. The Mahometans have such a re- 
spect for his tomb, that they make it their fourth pil- 
grimage. The Christians built a church over it, which 
the Turks have changed into a mosque, and forbidden 
their approach to it. 

Truly may it be said, -in contemplating the grave, 
that, — 

“ It is but the kingdom of decay ! 

So isAhe world, and all we see, 

The sport of mutability.” 


ISAAC BLESSING JACOB, INSTEAD OF ESAU. 

BY BEY. J. P. DUBBIN, D.D. 

As the sun went down amid “ the isles of the sea,” and 
gilded with his last beams the tents of Isaac on the plains 
of Beersheba, the patriarch retired to his couch to rest. 
The infirmities of more than a hundred years were upon 
him, and a dreadful malady threatened his speedy disso- 
lution. His slumbers were disturbed, and the indistinct 
visions of the future fortunes of his family crowded upon 
his restless and apprehensive spirit. He had retained in 
his own hands the patriarchate of his people, which, in 
those early days, carried with it the priesthood and .the 
prophetic office. These usually descended to the eldest 
son, but not, necessarily, without the dying blessing .of the 
father. The precious treasure was still in the hands of 
Isaac, and his thoughts dwelt, during the restless hours 
of the night, upon the manly form and active and inde- 
pendent spirit of Esau, his eldest son, to whom he resolved 
to communicate, as quickly as possible, the patriarchal 
powers and privileges. 

The morning sun had scarcely risen above the moun- 
tains of Moab', when -the old man drew aside the curtain 
of his tent, to call Esau. But the young man was already 
on duty at the door, awaiting the commands of his father ; 


82 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


who said, u My son, behold now, I am old, I know not the 
day of my death ; now therefore take, I pray thee, thy 
weapons, thy quiver and thy bow, and go out to the field 
and take me some venison ; and make me savory meat, 
that I may eat, that my soul may bless thee before I 
die.” 

With a bounding heart Esau departed to the fields, in 
pursuit of the timid and fleet gazelle,* which he had often 
brought down with his bow, in the chase. Their feeding- 
grounds were necessarily beyond the range of the flocks 
of Isaac, in the edge of the “ Desert of Beersheba.” Of 
course, Esau must be some time absent. The only anx- 
iety this gave his generous spirit, was the fear lest his 
father should become impatient. He little dreamed that his 
partial and unscrupulous mother had witnessed the early 
interview between himself and his father ; or that she, hav- 
ing long been intent upon the movements of Isaac, had 

^Having paused to cast a last look down into the Arabah, and beyond to 
the mountains of Edom and the tomb of Aaron, which appeared like a 
white speck on the top of Mount Hor, we bore northwest for Abraham’s 
wells, at Beersheba. We had gone but a little distance when four beau- 
tiful gazelles were observed on a hill-side. Two or three of our men 
started in pursuit, and in a 'few minutes we heard the report of a match- 
lock, and saw one of the gazelles bounding down the hill on three legs, 
the other being broken by the shot. It was coming directly towards us, 
and suddenly found itself hemmed in, when the strange Arab who had 
joined us at Mount Hor, struck it down with a stone, severed its head from 
its body in an instant, and bore it away as his part of the spoil. Two 
Bedouins held it up by the hind legs, while a third stripped the skin off, in 
a few seconds. We purchased it, and had a mess of the same kind of 
venison which Esau used to take on these hills, nearly four thousand years 
ago, and which his father Isaac loved so well, and for goodj'eason, if it were 
as well flavored as we found this to be. — Dr. Durbin's Observations in the 
East . 


THE BLESSING. 


83 


eagerly watched for the very first intimation he might 
give, of his purpose to transmit the patriarchal blessing. 

Scarcely had Esau disappeared, when Rebekah called 
Jacob, and having rehearsed what she had heard, said, 
u Now, therefore, my son, obey my voice according to 
that which I command thee. Go to the flock and fetch 
me from thence two good kids of the goats, ■ and I will 
make them savory meat for thy father, such as he loveth ; 
and thou shalt bring.it to thy father, that he may eat, and 
that he may bless thee, before his death.” 

The crisis in Jacob’s life had come. The patriarchal 
blessing was about to be bestowed by his father, now on 
the verge of the grave; his rival brother, to whom it 
naturally belonged, was away on the hunt, in obedience to 
the command of the father ; the old man was alone in his 
tent, wrapped in prayer and meditation, filling himself 
full of the prophetic fire, that he might abundantly invest 
his first-born son with the heavenly unction, and thus 
constitute him the head and hope of his family : the 
sacred and far-reaching blessing of the patriarch, which 
could be bestowed on but one, and could never .be re- 
voked, filled his imagination with unutterable visions of 
the future greatness and glory which the Abrahamic tra- 
ditions in the family had led him to cherish. Yet he felt 
that there was a terrible risk in the attempt to obtain the 
blessing, which he knew his father had determined to 
bestow upon his brother, to whom it lawfully belonged. 
He dreaded the blighting curse of his father, in case he 
should be detected in the attempt to deceive him; and 
he hesitated, and expressed his apprehensions to his 
mother. 


84 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


She, feeling that the whole responsibility of the haz- 
ardous transaction rested on her, and that she had 
thrown the weight of maternal authority into the scale of 
young ambition, determined to accomplish her purpose, by 
relieving Jacob of his apprehensions of the sacred pa- 
ternal curse. She said, “ Upon me be thy curse, my son ; 
only obey my voice.” In the patriarchal times, such ma- 
ternal taking of responsibility was considered a sufficient 
defence against all the effects of the sacred curse ; and as 
this relieved Jacob from his oppressive fears, and as his 
conscience had not yet awakened to his guilty sliare in 
the transaction, he immediately prepared to obey his 
mother* 

While Jacob was gone to take the kids, Rebekah busied 
herself in preparing the means of deceiving Isaac. For- 
tunately, the sacerdotal robes of Esau, who, because he 
was the heir to the priesthood, occasionally served at the 
altar under the direction of Isaac, were in her posses- 
sion, as they belonged to the general interests of the 
family. They were kept in chests of precious aromatic 
wood which, with the spices among them, imparted to 
them a pungent perfume. These she took and put on 
Jacob. But Esau was a “ hairy man,” and Jacob 
u smooth-skinned.” Yet, as Isaac was now quite paralyzed 
by age and disease, it was an easy matter to deceive 
his blunted touch, by putting the soft skins of the goats on 
Jacob’s hands and neck. Then she quickly prepared 
the savory meat from the kids’ flesh, and put it into his 
hands. 

Thus provided by the mother, Jacob advanced to the 


THE BLESSING. 


85 


accomplishment of the fearful and momentous deed. Isaac 
was still in his tent, occupied with his purpose towards 
Esau. He had not heard the approaching - footsteps of 
Jacob ; and, as the curtain was drawn aside, his dim eyes 
did not see the retiring figure, and dark, concentrated 
countenance of Rebekah, on the edge of the door without 
the tent. Then was the crisis of this terribly interesting 
drama. The desperate, guilty bosom of Rebekah heaved 
heavily, as she watched the success of her plan. The 
nerves of Jacob were strung to the highest tension, that 
he might not falter while he uttered the horrible false- 
hoods necessary to the accomplishment of the purpose. 
The soul of Isaac was tom, alternately, by the most pain- 
ful and pleasing emotions. The time for Esau to return 
seemed to him not yet come ; and a sickening and cruel 
suspicion of unfairness filled his mind. He said, “ Come 
near, I pray thee, that I may feel thee, my son, whether 
thou be my very son Esau, or not. And Jacob went 
near unto Isaac his father ; and he felt him, and said, 
The voice is Jacob’s voice, but the hands are the hands 
of Esau. And he discerned him not, because his hands 
were hairy, as his brother Esau’s hands : so he blessed 
him. And he said, Art thou my very son Esau ? And 
he said, I am.” 

The feeble and credulous mind of Isaac fell back on 
the conclusion, that God had indeed favored his purpose 
of blessing Esau, and hence had brought the venison to 
the young hunter. And, worn out by the intense excite- 
ment of the day, he steadied himself in his seat, and did 
eat of Jacob’s savory meat, and drank of his wine, and 


36 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


was refreshed. When the old patriarch’s spirits had 
returned to him, he felt that mysterious oneness of inter- 
est with his son, which, in the Oriental world, has, from 
time immemorial, sprung from partaking of' another’s 
meat ; and he immediately prepared to bestow his blessing 
upon him of whose venison he had eaten. And he said, 
“ Come near, now, my son, and kiss me.” And Jacob 
did so, and then fell upon his knees, and placed his hands 
in the lap of his father ; who, smelling the sacerdotal 
scent of Esau’s raiment which was upon him,, placed his 
hand on his head and said, u See, the smell of my son 
is as the smell of a field which the Lord hath blessed 
therefore, God give thee of the dew of heaven, and the 
fatness of the earth, and plenty of corn and wine : let 
people serve thee, and nations bow down to thee : be lord 
over thy brethren, and let thy mother’s sons bow down to 
thee : cursed be every one that curseth thee, and blessed 
be he that blesseth thee.” 

As the last tremulous words of the feeble old man fell 
from his lips he sunk back in his seat ; and, covering his 
face with his withered hands, silently turned his dim eyes 
to heaven. Jacob hastily retreated, following his mother 
to her own tent. 

Scarcely had they drawn close the curtain, and ex- 
changed a few meaning and guilty glances, when they 
were startled at the hurried, and unnaturally energetic 
voice of the old patriarch in his tent ; as “ he trembled 
very exceedingly, and exclaimed, Who art thou ? Who ? 
Where is he that hath taken venison, and brought it me, 
and I have eaten of all before thou earnest, and have 


THE BLESSING. 


37 


blessed him ? Yea, and he shall he blessed.” Upon 
uttering these words, a profound and seemingly paralytic 
swoon came over him, from which he was hardly aroused 
by “ the great and exceeding bitter cry of Esau, saying, 
Bless me, even me, also, 0 my father; hast thou not re- 
served a blessing for me ? ” And he lifted up his voice 
again, and wept. 

Esau still knelt before his father ; who, when he had 
overcome the first paroxysms of grief, at the deception 
which had been practised upon him, said, “ Behold, I have 
made Jacob thy lord, and all his brethren have I given 
to him for servants ; and with corn and wine have I sus- 
tained him : and what shall I do now unto thee, my son ? 
Behold, thy dwelling shall be the fatness of the earth, and 
of the dew of heaven from above ; and by thy sword 
shalt thou live, and shalt serve thy brother : and it shall 
come to pass when thou shalt have the dominion, that thou 
shalt break his yoke from off thy neck.” 

Slowly Esau rose from before his father ; and, with a 
sullen but firm step, retired from the tent, saying, in the 
most profound and threatening accents, “ The days of 
mourning for my father are at hand ; then will I slay 
my brother Jacob.” These words were ominous to Jar 
cob’s and Rebekah’s peace. The hours of retribution 
were about to come. The guilty mother heard of these 
words of the injured Esau, and was obliged to urge her 
son Jacob to fly to Mesopotamia. Next morning he de- 
parted, with the blessing of his father. But the heart of 
Rebekah sank within her, as she caught the last glimpse 
of him ascending the southern hills of Judea, which over- 


38 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


look the pasture-grounds of Beersheba. She felt that she 
should see him no more, and retired to her tent and shed 
tears ; but not those which unburden the soul, because 
they have in them the elements of innocent and confident 
submission, but tears of apprehension and guilt, which 
quickly dry themselves up and leave a sting behind. 
Twenty years of weariness and fraud did Jacob endure 
in Haran, while in the service of his uncle Laban. Then 
he came and made the most abject submission to his 
brother Esau, whose nobleness of soul was shown in the 
warm and generous reception he gave him. He lived to 
see his own family torn with internal dissensions ; and, 
finally, died in a foreign land, to whose king he declared, 
“ few and evil have been the days of the years of my 
life,” and in which his posterity was doomed to ages of 
the most cruel bondage. 

Behold the fruits of deception! Yet the sun of the 
patriarch set in peace ; for, from the night in which he 
wrestled with the angel on the east of the Jordan, to the 
day of his death, he was a new man ; to indicate which, 
his name was changed from Jacob, the Supplanter, to 
Israel, a Prince of God. 






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REBEKAH DRAWING WATER FOR ABRAHAM’S CAMELS. 


BY KEY. J. GUERNSEY* 

The man of God, “ old and welhstricken in age,” had 
seated himself in the door of his tent. The last rajs of 
the departing orb of day were being spent in overspread' 
ing the distant horizon with the mantle of their glory. 
The chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves, and the rip- 
pling of waters, joining in sweet and melodious concert, 
broke the evening stillness. But his eye saw no beauty. 
His ear heard no melody. 

He had but recently returned from “ the cave of the 
field of Machpelah.” To its faithful keeping he had com- 
mitted the dear remains of the companion whose presence 
had cheered and blessed him for a century. To-day, for 
the first time during all that period, he had come from his 
shepherd-toils and wanderings, without having been greeted 
by her smile of approbation, and her voice of cheerful wel- 
come. He was alone ! Sadness filled his heart. Grief was 
written on his brow. His manliness struggled vainly against 
the tide of emotion that swelled within his heaving bosom. 
The strong man bowed his venerable head, white with the 
frosts of age, and sought relief in tears, from the burden 
that oppressed his soul. 

The first bitterness of his sorrow was soon past. The 


40 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


troubled waters had subsided, and all was calm. His 
countenance wore the aspect of one lost in silent musing. 
For a season, his thoughts were with the departed. Then, 
by a natural transition, they passed to the child she had 
borne him. That child — the son of his love, and the 
promised progenitor of a race as numerous as the stars of 
heaven, and as the sand upon the seashore — had now 
attained to the full age of manhood. He was, neverthe- 
less, still unprovided with one who should be the compan- 
ion of his way, and the sharer of those blessings which 
the assurance of Jehovah had made a part of his future 
inheritance. Reminded, by the death of Sarah, of his 
own advancing age, and of the growing uncertainty of 
his continuance in life, the old patriarch was led most 
earnestly to desire for his son a speedy entrance into 
marriage relations. But it was inconsistent with his de- 
signs and wishes, that a wife should be chosen for him 
from the daughters of the people among whom he dwelt. 
What, then, was the course to be pursued ? 

He was no longer in solitude. “ The eldest servant 
of his house, that ruled over all that he had,” was at his 
side. Of him he required a pledge that he would go to 
the land of his kindred, and from thence bring one whom 
his son should welcome as a bride. To the • suggestion, 
that the woman might not be willing to follow a stranger 
into a strange land, he replied, by giving assurance that 
the Lord God of heaven should send his angel before him, 
and that thus he should be prospered in his errand. 

The old servant was himself a man of faith; and, en- 
couraged by the expectation of guidance- from the God 


REBEKAH DRAWING WATER. 


41 


of his master, he cheerfully set forth on the mission with 
which he was intrusted. Patiently and hopingly he 
passed on his way, until at length the city of Nahor was 
indistinctly seen in the distance, looming up from beneath 
the horizon, as if on purpose to greet his waiting vision. 
At a little distance from the city, on a rising slope of 
ground, he discovered a well. Beside this well he caused 
his camels to kneel ; while he and his attendants reclined 
upon the carpet of variegated beauty, which nature had 
spread around them. 

His journey was now accomplished. The city was 
before him ; and from among its many daughters, all alike 
strangers to him, one was to be chosen, whom Isaac should 
receive and cherish as a wife, and whom Abraham should 
love and bless as a child. How the choice was to be 
made, upon whom it should fall, and what manner 
of person the chosen one should be, were questions 
upon which he was silently musing, when it suddenly 
occurred to him that she might, perchance, be among the 
company of fair ones who were regular visitors at the well. 
He seized with delight upon that thought, as Heaven’s 
suggestion. 

With the characteristic devotion which permitted him, 
at no time, to forget his dependence upon the true source 
of help, he lifted his heart in prayer ; asking that she 
who should answer his request for permission to drink 
from her pitcher, by offering to minister to his necessities, 
and to those of his camels also, might be the one appointed 
for the son of his master. Such an answer, he regarded as 


4 * 


42 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


indicative of a character of such general attractiveness 
and worth, that, should it proceed from one appointed for 
Isaac, it might be concluded with certainty that the “ Lord 
had showed kindness unto his master.” 

This was a very small thing upon which to base an esti- 
mate of character, but it was. all that was needed. The 
little unstudied acts that men perform often contain within 
themselves revelations of the heart more reliable than any 
afforded by conduct with which important results are sup- 
posed to he connected, and which is, therefore, the prod- 
uct of thought and care. The spontaneous impulses of 
the heart do Dot so surely come out in such conduct, as in 
that in which there is not so much consciousness of being 
the object of scrutiny, and in which there is, therefore, 
less occasion to apprehend duplicity- We may be more 
sure that , a man who stops by the wayside, to inquire 
after the wants and sorrows of the weeping child he 
meets, feels a genuine sympathy for human w r oe, than we 
may that he does so who merely speaks touchingly and tear- 
fully of the sorrows of bereaved friends in a funeral oration. 
We may count more confidently upon the man’s regard for 
the happiness of his race, who turns from his course to glad- 
den the heart of some poor boy, by taking his kite from 
the tree among whose branches it has lodged, than we can 
upon that of the man of whom we know nothing, save that 
he is an eloquent pleader for the principles of philan- 
thropy upon the platform. On the same principle, the 
indication of character which the servant desired from 
her with whom he should return to his master, was more 


REBEKAH DRAWING WATER. 43 

satisfactory than any she could have given, had she hospi- 
tably welcomed him to her home, amid the mingled smiles 
and blushes occasioned by a knowledge of his errand. 

While words of supplication were yet on his tongue, a 
damsel fair to look upon came forth from the city, bearing 
her pitcher upon her shoulder. Beautiful in form, and 
graceful in carriage, she could not fail to attract the 
stranger’s notice. No sooner had she filled her pitcher, 
and come up from the well, than he ran to meet her, and 
said, “Let me, I pray thee, drink a little water of thy 
pitcher.” The kindness that looked out from beneath 
the drooping lashes, whose deep shade helped to en- 
rich the beauty of her dark, blue eye ; the goodness 
that shone in every feature of her countenance, had 
prepared him for the answer, which, of all others, he 
desired to hear. She said, “Brink, my lord ; ” and, 
when she had done giving him drink, she said, “ I will 
draw water for thy camels also, until they have done 
drinking.” The very tones of her voice were “softest 
music” to the ear of the stranger. 

With a light step and a cheerful heart she turned from 
him to the spot where the camels were kneeling. Divining 
her kind purpose, they quickly arose, and, with grateful 
look, gathered in a kind of half-circle around her. Si- 
lently and admiringly the old servant regarded her, as 
she stood among them, and smilingly patted the neck 
of each, as they came to partake of the delicious bev- 
erage she was so freely giving. He was satisfied. 
The errand that had brought him thither was speedily 
made known, and almost as speedily was it determined 


44 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


that she should accompany him in his return to the land 
of Canaan. 

Little did Rebekah think, when engaged in watering 
those stranger camels, how great were the results depend- 
ent upon the act she was performing. Without it, her life 
would have been spent amid different influences and in 
different relations. Her experience of joy and sorrow, of 
hope and fear, would have been a different experience. 
Without it, the world’s history, as well as her own, would 
have been altogether another history. To say that the 
history of a world has taken its direction from the offer 
of a simple, unassuming shepherd-girl to refresh the 
camels of a stranger with water, is saying a great deal, 
hut it is not saying more than the truth. Had no such 
offer been made by Rebekah, she would never have become 
the wife of Isaac ; Jacob and Esau would not have been 
born ; the twelve tribes of Israel would have been un- 
known ; the sale of Joseph, the bondage in Egypt, the 
sojourning in the wilderness, and all the subsequent events 
of Jewish history, would never have had an existence and 
a record. And, as the influence of the Jewish nation has 
been among the most powerful in shaping the world’s des- 
tinies, it follows, of course, that the world would never 
have worn its present aspect. 

The greatest results are often dependent upon acts in 
themselves the most insignificant ! This is among the 
lessons to be derived from the story of Rebekah. There 
are innumerable decisions, relating to the commonest con- 
cerns, which so extend themselves into all the circle of 
influences- by which our future life is to be surrounded 


REBEKAH DRAWING WATER. 45 

and moulded, as to do very much towards determining 
what shall be our character and experience. Moreover, 
so closely is man linked to his fellow-man; so surely do 
the actions of one, powerless though they seem, extend their 
influence into the path of others, and constitute an ele- 
ment in the power that moulds their being, and determines 
the measure of their good and ill, that no one can be sure 
that his most trifling acts will not so extend themselves 
as to reach the fountain of the world’s happiness. 


RECONCILIATION BETWEEN JACOB AND HIS BROTHER ESAU. 

BY REV. W. P. LUNT. 

Morning breaks upon the desert. The sandy waste 
sparkles beneath the rays of the dawn. The usual dull 
uniformity of the landscape, and its awful stillness, are 
enlivened now by a group of tents, and by the various 
sounds that belong to a pastoral encampment in the East. 
The whole assemblage of objects in the scene we are to 
describe, betokens the presence of an Oriental noble — a 
patriarch ; with his wives and children, his men-servants 
and maid servants. The numerous flocks and herds, and 
especially the camels, indicate a person of great wealth 
and consequence. Twenty years had passed since he left 
the tent of his aged parents, flying from the threatened 
vengeance of an offended brother. Counselled by the pru- 
dence of his mother, he had gone into the country of her 
kindred, to seek him a wife, and to allow the anger of his 
brother Esau to “ turn away ; ” and there he had continued 
to reside until now. During these twenty years, his indus- 
try had been rewarded, and he had greatly prospered. He 
had served his kinsman Laban with the most devoted and 
scrupulous fidelity. “In the day,” were his words, “ the 
drought consumed me, and the frost by night, and my 
sleep departed from mine eyes.” With only a staff in his 


THE RECONCILIATION. 


47 


hand, he had passed over Jordan ; and now, having in- 
creased to two bands, he was returning into his own country 
with the possessions God had enabled him to acquire. 

The mind of the patriarch Jacob was of a religious cast. 
The powers of the unseen world were to him not abstrac- 
tions, but living, personal agents. He saw visions. He 
was never alone. The desert was peopled with supernatu- 
ral beings. The ministers of God floated about him in the 
air, or assumed a human shape, and entered into familiar 
conversation with him. He thought, resolved, assured his 
hopes, mastered his fears, supported his virtue, by the 
help of these images which filled his believing mind. As 
in going out from his home, twenty years before, he had 
seen a vision of angels, ascending and descending above his 
head, and through this vision had received, into his heart 
the confident assurance that God would defend him among 
strangers, so, on his return, the “ angels of God met 
him.” He saw the Lord’s host encamped on the plain 
round about him, and in this lively shape he received the 
cheering hope of protection in his perilous journey. 

The appearance of the encampment on the morning 
when the incidents we are to consider occurred, denoted 
something unusual. Hanger was evidently apprehended, 
and wise precautions had been taken to guard against it. 
The patriarch had sent messengers before to Esau, his 
now powerful brother, to propitiate his favor by gifts, 
which they were directed to present. 

The twenty years which had passed since these two 
brothers had met, while they had increased the riches of 
Jacob, had also added to the prosperity of Esau. He 


48 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


who had .begun life as “ a cunning hunter, a man of the 
field,” had raised himself to the rank of the chieftain of 
a tribe and the founder of a people. “ Ex venatore latro, 
ex latrone subito dux atque imperator.” The patriarch 
Isaac had foreshown his destiny, in the words “By thy 
sword shalt thou live.” He had possessed himself of 
Mount Seir, by driving out the original inhabitants. In 
this stronghold he had collected numerous followers, 
whom he had subjected to his sway ; and the lord of 
Mount Seir, perched, like an eagle, upon his lofty rock, 
or issuing thence upon predatory and military adventures, 
was the terror of the desert. The respectful terms in 
which the messengers of Jacob were instructed to address 
him, and the humble manner in w T hich the patriarch 
saluted- him when they met, prove 'that he had raised 
himself to great power. 

The messengers of Jacob had returned from their 
mission, and had brought back the alarming intelligence 
that Esau was coming to meet his brother with a com- 
pany of four hundred men. The heart of Jacob was 
filled with apprehension. 'The powerful chief of Edom 
must be coming with no good purpose. 

The night, which had just ended, had been spent in 
fearful anxiety by the patriarch. He had caused his 
wives and children, and all that he had, to pass over the 
brook Jabbok in the night, and afterwards remained alone 
in his tent, to struggle with his restless and anxious 
thoughts. “And Jacob was left alone; and there 
wrestled a man with him, until the breaking of the day.” 
He had yielded, perhaps, to unworthy fears; and the 


THE RECONCILIATION. 


49 


vision of the angel with whom he wrestled was designed, 
and had the effect, to assure his mind. The vision was a 
symbolic and dramatic mode of thinking, peculiar to those 
times. It has its basis, however, in human nature, and 
similar conceptions appear in every age. “ In thoughts 
from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth on 
men,” — when the living, actual world is shut out, and the 
powers of observation are less exercised than the inward 
vision and image-faculty of the mind, the dread secrets 
of the invisible and spiritual world are unveiled to men, — 
“ fear comes upon them, and trembling, which makes all 
their bones to shake; an image is before their eyes;” 
faces glare upon them through the dark ; figures, with 
exaggerated limbs and features, stand out in dreadful 
distinctness, relieved upon the black-ground of night. And 
not fear alone has its images, to scare men in the u vis- 
ions of the night,” but hope, joy, love, faith ; whatever 
passion, sentiment, principle, has exercised the human 
soul during the day, exerts a like stimulating influence 
upon the mind and perceptions in the night-watches. It 
matters not whether the person be asleep or awake, the 
mind will think and feel .according to the laws which 
govern it, through the images with which it is familiar, 
modified- by the outward circumstances in which the 
person stands. The supernatural and spiritual world 
lies all around us ; we are designed to hold connection 
with it, through an intelligent faith, if we will allow it to 
be so ; but if we neglect to cultivate such a faith, then 
through fears and distorted fancies. If not in the broad 
and cheerful daylight, when we can, if we will, think of 


50 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


God with calm and trusting hearts, then iu the dark 
night, when nothing screens the mind from the awful 
mysteries of our being and condition. The stars are 
unseen in the daytime, not because they do not exist 
above our heads, but because they are lost in the efful- 
gence of the sun. When the lamp of day is extin- 
guished, they come out, and their diamond points make 
pictures for man’s fancy on the sky. In glittering 
symbols, we may read of our origin and destiny. So it 
is with man’s sense of the supernatural and spiritual. 
Shapes and figures from the spiritual world, which are 
lost, when, amidst the bustle of day-life, the senses are 
active, come out with the stars, and stand before the 
fancy, and demand permission to “ go where the day 
break eth.” 

Accordingly, on the eve of any important event, the 
great actors, in any struggle which may he looked for 
on the morrow, are frequently represented as holding 
intercourse with supernatural beings. Their disturbed 
and agitated minds converse with apparitions, and they 
thus receive intimations, through “ the visions of the 
night,” of the success or defeat that awaits them. Thus 
king Saul is represented, on the eve of battle, as going by 
night to visit the weird-woman of Endor ; and by means 
of her art, she brought up before the guilty monarch 
the venerable shape of Samuel, the seer, whose counsels 
he had neglected. The great master of dramatic fiction, 
too, furnishes instances of the same law that governs 
human thoughts in circumstances of peril, or in situations 
that disturb, perplex, and confuse the mind. On the 


THE RECONCILIATION. 


51 


eve of the battle in which he lost his life, Brutus is 
visited in his tent by the ghost of Caesar, and hears 
the phantom declare, “ Thou shalt see me at Philippi.” 
And the guilty Macbeth could not escape from the 
‘ ‘ horrible shadow” that personated to his conscience 
the murdered Banquo. The same principle will help 
to explain the night-scene in the tent of the patriarch 
Jacob, before the dreaded meeting with his brother. A 
phantom in the shape of a man rises before him, and he 
“ wrestles with him until the breaking of the day.” The 
struggles of his agitated mind took this form, and ex- 
pended themselves on this ideal object. Nor would he 
let his opponent depart till he had extorted a blessing. 
“ Give me assurance,” said the patriarch, “ that this 
peril to which I am expose'd shall be avoided.” 

“ What is thy name ? ” the shadow asks. 

“ Jacob.” 

“ Thy name shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel ; 
for, as a prince, hast thou power with God, and with men, 
and hast prevailed.” The qualities thou dost possess 
command a blessing from heaven, and make success 
certain. 

“ Tell me, I pray thee, thy name, Vision ! who art 
thou ? ” 

“ Nay ; wherefore ask after my name ? Receive the 
blessing which thou hast claimed, and be content.” 

The day breaks. The phantom wrestler vanishes. 
The patriarch is assured that it is a divinity whom he 
has “ seen face to face.” Penuel, as he named the 
place, is a memorial of the scene. “ And as he passed 


52 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


over Penuel, the sun rose upon him ; and he halted upon 
his thigh/’ the sinew of which had shrunk in the struggle. 
He was an altered man. Night had gone, with its fears. 
The result of the vision and struggle was a vigorous and 
tranquil faith. He felt safe ; and he was prepared for 
the dreaded meeting. 

u And Jacob lifted up his eyes and looked, and behold 
Esau came, and with him four hundred men.” Having 
disposed of his wives, and children, and servants, to be 
prepared for the worst that might happen, “ he passed 
over before them, and bowed himself to the ground seven 
times, until he came near to his brother. And Esau ran 
to meet him, and embraced him, and fell on his neck, and 
kissed him; and they wept.” The women and children 
then came near, and bowed themselves before the chief. 
“ And he said, What meanest thou by all this drove 
which I met ? . And he said, These are to find grace .in 
the sight of my lord.” The' generous Esau declined the 
gift, and said, “I have enough, my brother: keep, that 
thou hast unto thyself.” And only. when it was pressed 
upon him with much entreaty, would he consent to 
take it. 

It must be allowed that the unsuspecting, cordial, and 
generous manner of Esau, as contrasted with the reserve 
and cool caution of his brother, makes him a favorite with 
the reader, in perusing this beautiful passage of Scrip- 
ture. But this comparative estimate of the two will be 
modified, when we allow ourselves time to reflect upon 
the scene, and upon the qualities of which the chief 
persons in the scene are types. 


THE RECONCILIATION. 


53 


Edom had the qualities which captivate the hearts and 
imaginations of men; which awaken enthusiasm, and 
inspire personal attachment, and make their possessors 
popular idols. He was a creature of impulse, without 
forethought and providence, without enduring principles, 
with no profound ideas, without true wisdom, without 
religion. He was swayed by present feelings, whatever 
they might be. At one tim'e, we find him selling his 
birthright for a mess of pottage to appease his hunger. 
At another time, he is described as weeping in the tent 
of his blind father in the most passionate manner, because 
he had been deprived of the parental blessing, and threat- 
ening to kill his brother for depriving him of that which 
he had been so culpable in parting with. And then 
again, when he met with that brothel*, and had an oppor- 
tunity to take vengeance, forgetting all his injuries, and 
overflowing with kindness towards him who had fled for- 
merly in terror from before his wrath. An individual 
thus constituted, may be moved by a good impulse, and, 
at such times, he will be humane, generous, affectionate, 
admirable in his conduct ; but he is as likely to be under 
the dominion of a bad passion, and then he acts like a 
fiend. 

Esau was a man of violence and blood, and war was 
his delight. It was predicted of him, that by his sword 
he should live. A fixed habitation, the pursuits of gain- 
ful industry, the cultivation of the earth, the care of 
flocks and herds, quiet, healthful, virtue-forming labor, 
were to him tame, unmanly, inglorious. He would 
command and conquer fortune by his prowess. He 


54 SACRED TABLEAUX.' 

attempted, as all violent men ever do, to build up bis 
power by force, with profane defiance of the laws, espe- 
cially the moral laws which God had established in the 
universe. A nature thus controlled by mere impulse, 
without governing principles and fixed habits, may furnish 
specimens of a beautiful frankness, a noble generosity ; 
but there is no basis in such a nature for enduring pros- 
perity. There can. grow out of such, qualities no perma- 
nent power. No dynasty can be established by such an 
individual, that shall continue through centuries. Such 
a mind can originate no philosophy, no laws, no institu- 
tions that, shall mould and fashion successive generations 
of' men. Such a wayward disposition can never give, 
birth to a faith that' shall bind in one social fellowship 
millions of the race. 

It is Israel, the prince of God, the* man of peace, and 
not ' Edom, the popular military chiefj whose influence 
affects the condition of the world for ages. The predic- 
tion from the first, concerning the two sons of Isaac was, 
that they would be the founders of two nations, and that 
the elder should serve the younger. At- the time when 
the meeting between them in the desert took place, who 
would have looked for the fulfilment of such a prophecy? 
Not even Jacob himself had a clear consciousness as yet 
of his destiny, although the phantom with whom .he 
wrestled in his tent, taught him, as from God, to feel his 
true power, and bestowed on him the name that should 
make him known to all times. 

Look at the Bedouins of Arabia’s wastes.’ There they 
are, precisely where Duke Esau and his subjects were in 


THE RECONCILIATION. 


55 


the patriarchal ages. They have made no progress. 
They have builded no cities. They have invented no 
arts. They have erected no monuments of their power, 
taste, science, or skill. They have meditated and com- 
posed no systems of wisdom to guide the minds of all 
ages. They have sketched upon the tablets of a national 
literature no ideal pictures to amuse, refine, and inspire 
the fancies of a world. They are the same “ cunning 
hunters,” as Edom was. They have the same fascinating 
qualities ; the same impulsive, .reckless, generous temper ; 
the same love of wild adventure ; and the Same scorn of 
industry and regular habits of life. Not by agriculture ; 
not by the mechanic arts ; not by the loom or spindle ; 
not by world-searching commerce ; but “ by the sword 
will they live.” Considered as a race, and compared 
with the great nations of the world, contrasted espe- 
cially with the civilization of Europe, — the- echo of which 
they can almost hear, as it whirls through the path which 
has been opened for it on the edge of their deserts, — 
they are poor, insignificant, despicable. 

To Jacob belongs the blessing, — Israel is the prince 
who has power with God and men, and has prevailed. 
He is the type of the permanent power, wealth-, culture, 
renown of modern civilization. “ Out of Jacob comes a 
star, and a sceptre rises out of Israel.” — “ And saviors 
shall come up or Mount Zion to judge the mount of 
Esau ; and the kingdom shall be the Lord’s.” 


JOSEPH’S BRETHREN SELLING HIM TO THE ISHMAELITE 
MERCHANTS. 


BY REV. J. A. BENTON. 

It is early morning in Shechem. The rising sun has, 
for some minutes, bathed in golden light the green and 
cultivated summit "of Mount Gerizim, and the bald crest 
of Mount Ebal ; and now throws his slanting beams full 
upon the face of a youthful traveller, who, a moment 
before, was passing up the narrow vale. He stands 
enchanted with the scene of beauty, which he has turned 
to gaze upon. In front — embosomed between the hills, 
and embowered among' trees — is a rustic village, com- 
posed of tents and rude-made habitations. On either 
hand, bold and lofty, rise the mountain-peaks. Lux- 
uriant growths meet the eye at every turn ; and delight- 
ful aromas, from many a shrub and blossom, regale the 
senses. In this charming spot Jacob had once sojourned. 
In the rocky-sides of yonder mountain, in after years, 
are to be entombed the bones of Joseph. A little way 
farther, to the left, is the very well at which, when 
centuries have gone by, shall sit the Saviour of the world, 
and talk with a woman of yonder Sychar. Gladly would 
the noble youth linger still, and feed his soul with rapture 





W. Ii.()misl>y, Now York. 










JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 


57 


at the sight of such blended loveliness and grandeur. 
But he must not tarry. 

Yesterday he came thither, in search of his breth- 
ren, who were sent to feed their flocks in that region. 
They are shepherds, and lead a kind of nomadic life, 
wandering from place to place. All day he roamed the 
fields, but found them not. Just at nightfall, he learned 
that they had gone northward to Dothan. After taking 
food and rest, he is now setting forth on his journey to 
meet them there., He breaks away from the enchanting 
prospect which has held him, and hurries on. The dew- 
drops yet spangle every blade and leaf. The fresh air 
exhilarates him. The matin songs of birds cheer his 
spirits. Sweet music gushes from every blooming grove. 
The tinkling brook leaps merrily over its stony bed. 
Fragrant odors are wafted on the breezes of the morning. 

Over hills, verdant with the dark green of climbing 
vines ; down grassy slopes, that tread like softest carpets ; 
and along valleys, shaded by the olive and the palm, he 
wends his way, — solitary, but glad. His step is joyous 
and elastic ; his gait is graceful ; and his whole bearing 
manly. In person he is tall, and full-formed ; but his fea- 
tures have not acquired the firm, fixed aspect of maturity. 
His dark, curling hair sweeps down over his shoulders ; 
and he wears a long robe of dazzling hues. Now and 
then, as he stops and bares his head beneath some cool- 
ing shade, where the long, full clusters depend from 
thickly- woven branches, you perceive a finely-moulded, 
oval face, striking and beautiful ; a pale, thoughtful brow ; 
and a deep, earnest eye. His cheeks are yet un- 


58 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


bearded ; and on them, glowing vividly, bloom the roses 
of health. 

The hours pass, yet he continues his journey. The 
sun has now risen high ; the heat has become oppressive ; 
but he is almost there, and so he urges his weary feet 
onward. 

Far in the distance a mountain lifts its head into the 
clouds. From it, southward, projects an elevated ridge. 
On either side of this spur are high-swelling hills ; which, 
as they recede, sink into gentle undulations. Upon the 
top of this eminence, which terminates abruptly in an 
open vale, grows a huge old oak ; which, for centuries, 
has spread out its giant arms beneath the blue heavens. 
At such an hour, not a breath of wind is stirring. Every 
leaf hangs motionless. Even the birds among its boughs 
droop, and are silent. Beneath this tree, whose dense 
foliage screens them from the scorching sun, is gathered 
a group of shepherds. In a half-reclining posture, they 
are whiling away the tedious hours. There are nine of 
them — all sons of one man; another still belongs to 
their number ; but to his lot it has fallen to be on duty, 
and he is absent. 

Suddenly one of them, who had risen up, calls the 
attention of the rest to an object he descries away toward 
the southern horizon. They all gaze intently. It is the 
form of a man, just emerging from a dark, wooded ravine, 
into the farther end of the long, green valley, which 
stretches away at their feet. But the form is strangely 
apparelled. It can be no Canaanite. Ah ! now he 
comes fully into the line of vision. They see. It is 


JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 


59 


their brother ; one whom they left at home with their 
aged father. He is now coming to meet them, at this 
great distance, clad in his long, many-colored garment. 
By its peculiarity they so quickly recognize him. 

The loving-favor of Jacob has arrayed him so splen- 
didly. That garment is the sire’s meed of approbation 
to the son, — for his life-long, willing obedience, his pure 
feelings, and his noble conduct. • But his brothers like it 
not ; it seems invidious. They like not him. They 
deem him proud, exclusive ; because he has shrunk back 
from wilful wrong, and refused to practise evil with them. 
So they have hated him, though without a cause. Now 
that he approaches, the very sight of him stirs ill feelings 
in their breasts. Evil thoughts throng upon them. Ill- 
will burns. The electric current of passion flashes from eye 
to eye. Conflicting emotions struggle in their bosoms. 
But the contest is brief ;• fierce rage and envy are soon in 
the ascendant ; malice triumphs. 

They harden their hearts against their unoffending 
brother. They even plot wanton mischief. They resolve 
to execute foul murder ! For, when they saw him, 
“ Even before he came near unto them, they conspired 
against him to slay him. And they said one to another, 
Behold, this dreamer [dream-king] cometh ! Come now, 
therefore, and let us slay him, and cast him into some 
pit; and we will say, Some evil beast hath devoured 
him ; and we shall see what will become of his dreams.” 
Gen. 3T : 18-20. So these strong men, who cannot rest 
while Joseph lives, and who are preparing to crush him 
as a vagrant wretch, stand up in the conscious might of 


60 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


their wickedness, and exult with taunting and sneers 
over the weakness of their innocent victim. They left 
him at home with execrations rather than warm adieus 
upon their lips ; and now, as he draws near, they greet 
him with hissing and reproach, and glare at him with a 
savage ferocity. 

They will not return his fraternal salutation. They 
will not listen to his message. They will not hear his 
expostulations. They drown his voice with their loud 
shoutings. . Some rudely seize him ; others pounce upon 
him, like tigers thirsting for blood. They tear from him 
his variegated robe ; they put indignity upon him ; they 
beat him, all the while unresisting ; they are just hurry- 
ing him away to death. But Reuben, from his distant 
post, has heard the outcry that has been raised. He 
comes running up to the group, breathless and distracted. 
He has not been in the plot ; he learns what the proce- 
dure is ; his feelings revolt ; he is not ripe for murder ; 
and, at his entreaty, the slaughter is postponed ; and the 
victim, stripped as he is, cast into a pit, hard by. 

Again the nine assemble beneath the old oak, in the 
grateful shade. Their rustic table is spread. With 
careless unconcern they sit down to partake of their daily 
repast ; yet the flush of excited feeling lingers on every 
countenance. Glances of triumph are in their eyes. 
They even make merry over the scene which has just 
transpired. They make" light of their brother’s timid 
mien and undefiant look, and boast each of his prowess 
and his hardihood. The hour wears away ; their meal 
is wellnigh finished, and they are still in jocund mood. 


JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 


61 


They are just ready to debate anew concerning the 
disposal of their prisoner, when, lifting up their eyes 
toward the east, they behold a company of Ishmaelites 
approaching from Gilead, “ with their camels bearing 
spicery and balm and myrrh, going to carry it down to 
Egypt.” Heretofore the noble countenance of Judah 
has at times been sad. Hesitation has marked it. But 
it brightens at the approach of this band of traders. A 
new plan has suggested itself to him. It will spare them 
a horrid task. He proposes, that, rather than imbrue 
their hands in their brother’s blood, they shall dispose of 
him to these Arabian merchants ; saying, “ What profit 
is it if we slay our brother, and conceal his blood? 
Come, and let us sell him to the Ishmaelites, and let not 
our hand be upon him ; for he is our brother, our flesh : 
and his brethren were content.” So the nine agree to 
Judah’s proposal. Reuben is again absent. He knows 
nothing of this arrangement. The rest take no pains to 
inform him. 

As the sons of Ishmael come within reach of their 
voices, the nine brethren hail them. With one accord 
they make the proposition. It is entertained by the mer- 
chantmen. Joseph is drawn out of the pit. He has no 
outer garment on ; his full, fine form is seen, though now 
marred by rough treatment. He stands before them, 
erect and noble ; yet pale with excitement and fear. He 
looks on in sad silence ; he knows not what measures are 
proceeding. The chaffering goes on a little way from 
him. The conversation is in an under-tone ; but it seems 
full of life and interest. Their voices fall but indistinctly 


62 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


on his ear ; yet he notices many significant gestures, 
many side-looks, and furtive glances, directed toward 
himself. He cannot divine the meaning of all he sees. 
He suspects the conversation turns on him ; and thinks 
it an ill omen that the debate continues so long. 

But at length they decide. The bargain is struck ; 
and, as Joseph beholds some of his brethren receiving 
money at the merchants’ hands, and others coming with 
thongs to bind him, the horrid truth flashes on his mind, 
— the dread reality stares him full in the face. He is 
sold ! Sold for a bond-slave ! Is to go — he knows not 
whither. “ Merciful Heaven ! for this came I from the 
vale of Hebron, with messages of peace do my breth- 
ren?” The thought overwhelms him. He falls on his 
knees, and entreats that he may not share such a doom. 
He tells his brethren on what a kind errand he came. 
He protests his innocence, in respect to any ill design ; 
yet craves forgiveness if in aught he has done them 
wrong. He implores their pity, by the honor of their 
family and name ; by the bonds of their common brother- 
hood ; by the memory of their early years and childish 
joys; and by the love of Jacob, their father, — an old 
man, borne down with years, whose heart grief will break 
if his young son come not back. But all in vain. They 
will not change their purpose ; they will not retract the 
bargain. They steel their hearts against his plea. Their 
cruel souls will not relent, even while he lifts his hands to 
heaven and prays ; and they gaze on him, witnessing the 
convulsive motions of his whole frame, his choking utter- 
ance, his quivering lips, and his streaming eyes. They 


JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 


63 


look on his pale forehead, and his wan face, in whose 
expression injured innocence and sad surprise are blended, 
and see every feature wearing an aspect of agony, as if 
his soul were riven, and remain unmoved. 

Yet they never forget that beseeching face, though 
now they disregard its tender appeal. For when, in after 
years, themselves are overwhelmed with deep distress in 
Egypt, that same sorrowful face rises vividly before 
them, and wrings from their burdened hearts full con- 
fession of their guiltiness : and they say one to another, 
“ We are verily guilty concerning our brother, in that 
we saw the anguish of his soul, when he besought us, and 
we would not hear ; therefore is this distress come upon 
us.” Gen: 42 : 21. 

And sullenly, hastily, they thrust him away, as he 
clings to their knees, and looks for the last time on their 
familiar features* They deliver him into the hands of 
heartless traffickers. They thus trample on their own 
father’s son ; tear him from all the pleasures of home 
and kindred ; banish him from the loved scenes of his 
childhood ; fasten cruel bondage upon him, with its train 
of sufferings and woe ; shut from his soul every gleam 
of earthly hope ; shroud his prospects in impenetrable 
night: and who but Israel’s God, whom he has loved 
from early years, shall cheer the lone captive now ? 
tc The archers have sorely grieved him, and shot at him, 
and hated him.” “ His feet they hurt with fetters ; his 
soul came into iron.” Gen. 49 : 23 ; Ps. 105 : 18. So these 
brethren, in their hate, burst through every fraternal 
obligation, and rend the most sacred ties. They look 


64 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


coldly on a brother’s keen anguish ; they scorn a father’s 
love, crush a father’s hopes, pierce a father’s soul with 
thorns ; and in the end, with sheer impudence and mock- 
ing cruelty, hide from a father’s knowledge their unholy 
compact and their foul crime, behind a garment them- 
selves have stolen, and tom, and dipped in feigned 
blood. 

But whence came these evils ? What can have 
prompted purposes so fell? What can have stung the 
souls of brothers to such a pitch of madness ? What 
can have urged them to deeds so horrible ? What can 
have driven them to act so unnatural a part ? What 
evil spirit has possessed them, that they rush headlong 
to the commission of outrages so monstrous ? 

It is Envy that has done it ! Fierce, rankling envy is 
at the bottom of it all. Envy, which, itself founded in 
unreason, has bereft of reason them that cherished it. 
Envy, which, itself suspicious, has so filled their souls 
with jealousy, that they suspect “ there ’s ill where no ill 
seems.” Envy, which, itself malign, has diffused in the 
bosoms where it dwells nought but bitter hate and malice. 
Envy, which, itself unsparing and pitiless, has so eaten 
out the finer feelings and sacred sympathies of its sub- 
jects, as to render them cruel, “ implacable, unmer- 
ciful.” 

Thou that readest, dwells there no discontent in thy 
bosom ? Throbs no envy in thy heart ? Hast thou no 
disquiet, inly, at thy neighbor’s prosperity ? Feelest no 
pain at thy rival’s success ? Grudgest not to another 
his good things, that excel thine own ? Hast no ill-will 


JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 


65 


toward any, for his greatness or his wealth ? Enviest 
thou the lot of none ? If not, then art thou happy above 
the sons of Jacob; blessed among men. If thou dost, 
beware ! Thou cherishest an enemy in thy bosom, that, 
ere long, shall lead thee captive. Crush him instantly, 
or thou art undone. Remember Joseph’s brethren ! 


THE INTERPRETATION OF KING PHARAOH’S TWO DREAMS 
BY JOSEPH. 


BY REV. WILLIAM JENKS, D.D. 

The youth, whom we have contemplated as the inno- 
cent victim of envy and intended fratricide, reaches here 
another stage of his eventful journey in life. He has 
been a trusty steward, and God prospered him as such. 
His virtue has been severely tried, and nobly sustained 
the trial. But falsehood and malice imprisoned him. 
Within the prison, the eye of the God of Israel has been 
upon him, and conciliated for him the kind regard of all. 
He has already laid the foundation of his subsequent 
eminence, though in hardship and irons, by inter- 
pretations which none but God could empower him to 
give. Psalm 105 : 18. 

Although a foreigner in Egypt originally, and now 
unattended and uncountenanced, except, it may be, by 
the mortified and penitent man, who, in prosperity, had 
forgotten the obligations contracted in distress, yet he is 
by no means forsaken. Nay, he is already on the high 
road of distinction and influence. Great honor and 
extensive usefulness await him. Yet is his demeanor 


THE INTERPRETATION. 


67 


marked as well by dignity and decision, as by humility 
and modesty. Whence is this ? 

God, who, in his infinite counsels, has designed great 
things, prepares, in his wisdom and love, the instruments 
that accomplish them. He has been training Joseph for 
the part he is to sustain in preventing the desolation of a 
great kingdom, and preparing the way for the develop- 
ment of a new nation founded in a single family, and 
that his own. 

Anxiety to know future things, in order to provide 
against evil, and take advantage of what may be favor- 
able in coming events, is but natural to man. Groping 
his way in the gloom, he welcomes every glimpse of light. 
Dreams have been known to afford such glimpses. God 
has often employed them. “ In slumberings upon the 
bed, then he openeth the ears of men, and sealeth their 
instruction.” Job 33 : 15, 16. See also Num. 12 ; 6. 
So has sacred antiquity asserted, and so the heathen uni- 
formly believed. Some of them wrote books of rules, 
by which interpretations should be made. 

Joseph is summoned to the court, to interpret the 
dreams of Pharaoh. In presence of the nobles and 
“wise men” of, probably, the most civilized and power- 
ful empire then in the world, he addresses the king, with 
manly firmness, freedom, and self-possession, in the double 
capacity of a prophet and a counsellor. He tells him 
what is soon to occur, — a long series of plentiful har- 
vests, succeeded by a series of disappointed labors in the 
field, of equal duration, — and these affecting, not par- 
ticular provinces alone, but the whole kingdom, — a 


68 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


kingdom enjoying the most distinguished rank among the 
nations. 

Great ideas were not strange to the mind of Joseph. 
From the dawn of childhood, he had been made ac- 
quainted with the character and requirements of God, 
the Creator of all things, and their almighty Disposer. 
Him did Joseph know, as the God of Abraham, Isaac, 
and Jacob, his own immediate and revered ancestors. 
And the very communication to him of such knowledge 
was, without any doubt, accompanied in Jacob’s paternal 
instructions, with the idea of the Divine design in calling 
Abraham, “ that in him, and in his seed, all the nations 
of the earth should be blessed.” Gen. 12 : 2, 8 ; 18 : 
18, 19 ; 26 : 8-5 ; 28 : 13-15. 

What enlargement of thought must result from follow- 
ing out such an idea ! It connects extremes. God, the 
All-sufficient, appears on the one hand, Joseph’s own 
family on the other. What an alliance ! But it is the 
alliance of a believing soul, by which that soul appro- 
priates to itself the mercies of its Maker ; and he who 
feels its influence treads on higher ground, and with a 
firmer step, and with a serener brow, than ordinary 
mortals. 

Joseph, too, had seen visions, and that in early life. 
They represented “ the sun, moon, and eleven stars,” as 
well as the “ sheaves ” of his brethren, making obeisance 
to himself. And it required, no doubt, the discipline of 
adversity to counteract the tendency of such scenes to 
inflate the vanity and self-confidence of youth. But the 
result of such discipline would be the strengthening of 


THE INTERPRETATION. 


69 


character ; and, that strength of character marked this 
favorite and tried son of Israel, the whole narrative 
abundantly evinces. 

Pharaoh is struck with astonishment. He doubts not 
the truth of the interpretation he has heard, nor the 
wisdom of the advice which Joseph gave in connection 
with it. And when he contemplates the emergency, and 
sees before him the man whom God had enabled to com- 
prehend it, and to devise means to meet it, he hesitates 
no longer. Joseph is appointed his principal minister of 
state ; and he, who entered the court from a prison, goes 
out of it to ride in “ the second chariot ” of the king, 
with official attendants crying, “ Bow the knee ! ” 

Thus two distinct phases of the event that forms the 
subject of the engraving, present themselves to us. The 
most obvious is, the providential change of circumstances 
in the case of Joseph. What a contrast in but a few 
hours ! It is between a prison and a throne. Yet the 
other view is as important, — that which concerns his 
moral training for the station assigned him in the provi- 
dence of God. Deep religious principle had been 
instilled into the mind and heart of Joseph, and had 
manifested its power in his daily bearing, and in the 
common acts of life. And “ seest thou a man diligent 
in his business ? he shall stand before kings ; he shall not 
stand before mean men.” Prov. 22 : 29. 

In the case of Joseph, therefore, as in every other case 
where true moral worth and genuine dignity and consist- 
ency of character are found, as the result of real religion, 
we see the grace of God combining with and producing 


70 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


human industry, fidelity, and care. Providence, on the 
part of God, conspires with obedience on the part of 
man, to bring about the greatest events of human 
history. “ Whoso is wise, and will observe these things, 
even they shall understand the loving-kindness of the 
Lord.” Psalm 107 : 43. 








JACOB, ON HIS DEATH-BED, CALLING TOGETHER HIS SONS 
AND BLESSING THEM. 


BY REV. C. A. BARTOL. 

All these are the twelve tribes of Israel : and this is it that their father 
spake unto them, and blessed them; every one according to his blessing 
he blessed them. — Gen. 49 : 28. 


To the latest generation, the record of mankind’s 
earliest history must retain an unfading interest. Every 
scene drawn in that record makes its own peculiar im- 
pression. But among them all, perhaps none is at once 
more solemn and picturesque than that of the patriarch 
Jacob, blessing his children from his death-bed. 

In his twelve sons, the twelve tribes of Israel are 
virtually gathered round him. In their minds and for- 
tunes, are unsealed the fountains of coming human 
destiny. Beneath their father’s eye and hand, the 
streams are beginning to flow that shall affect so widely 
the condition of the world. There is thus a singular 
weight and pathos in the language of his dying lips, as 
he mingles his last influence in their fate, and gives the 
last impulse to that career which should involve the 
condition of races and ages to come. The account in 
Genesis, describes this final communication of the patri- 
arch to his sons, as his blessing: “ Every one according 


72 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


to his blessing he blessed them.” But what is the nature 
of the blessing he thus severally gives ? As we listen 
for the far-off whisper and fainting utterance of the patri- 
arch’s voice, we might expect to hear only sighs of fond- 
ness, accents of yearning tenderness, invocations and 
promises of all prosperity and good upon the head of 
every child so distinguishably dear to him, from the 
breath of expiring nature. 

But we are startled from this pleasing expectation by . 
other tones indeed ! The speech of Jacob is no soft 
benediction alone. Even the death-sheet that wraps him, 
he cannot use as a mantle to cover the faults of his 
offspring. Struggling against the weakness of the sink- 
ing frame, he rises erect upon his couch, and discourses 
to them with all the pristine, unabated energy of his soul. 
He turns his weakness into power, draws from the gestures 
and motions of his emaciated limbs and dissolving body a 
terrible eloquence, and makes his lips as the mouth of 
the grave, pouring a slow, sepulchral warning into their 
hearts. What an audience of attentive, though burning 
ears, that mortal bed, that dying hour, must have had ! 

“ 0, but they say the tongues of dying men 
Enforce attention like deep harmony : 

Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain ; 

For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain.” 

And verily Jacob did not “die, and make no sign ! ” 
But is not the phrase of the old record true, even though 
it seem self-contradictory ? Did not the patriarch give 
his blessing to every one of his children ? We will not 


JACOB’S BLESSING. 


73 


decide the question by winking out of sight any thing of 
the severity of his words. And verily some of those 
words sound more like denunciations or curses, than like 
blessings. 

To Reuben, he says, “ Unstable as water, thou shalt 
not excel;” When he comes to Simeon and Levi, he 
changes his style of address to the third person, as though 
averting his head from beholding them, and wishing thus 
by what he said to fix a deeper sting of reproof. “ In- 
struments of cruelty are in their habitations. 0 my 
soul, come not thou into their secret ; unto their assem- 
bly, mine honor, be not thou united : for in their anger 
they slew a man, and in their self-will they digged down 
a wall. Cursed be their anger, for it was fierce ; and 
their wrath, for it was cruel : I will divide them in Jacob, 
and scatter them in Israel.” But that it is from no 
severe temper, no love of imprecation, that the patriarch 
deals such blows of reproach with his dying strength, 
appears, when we see how sweet and full the approbation 
also which he bestows on the deserving objects. He can 
hardly shower divine bounties large and numerous enough 
on the head of his darling Joseph ; and he pronounces 
on Judah his own praise, in predicting for him the 
“ praise ” of his brethren, with predominating sway over 
his kindred, and victorious conquest against his enemies, 
and the established dominion of his law, reaching on into 
the most distant times, even “ until Shiloh come.” 

Most Christians have regarded this passage as a 
prophecy of the Messiah’s great kingdom of grace and 
love, which the patriarch saw approaching along the dim 


74 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


vista of future centuries, to swallow up all other and 
lower authority and rule. And, throughout Jacob’s 
whole discourse to his sons, he seems to take on the 
prophetic character. His position is indeed a sublime 
one. The brink of the grave is the greatest of all intel- 
lectual as well as spiritual positions, that a human being 
can hold. It is not death, or the dead body, that makes 
the grandest spectacle to the human mind, but dying, the 
mortal knowing that he is in the act of being unclothed 
from this close garment of flesh, that seems woven into the 
very texture of the soul. And the dying of the patriarch, 
“ the providential man,” with his calm disclosures, as the 
last sands of mortal existence are running out, carries us 
to the height of sublimity. He stands, consciously, on 
the confines of the world. He is taking the step from 
time into eternity. Light from both worlds falls upon 
his mind ; and in the light he looks down the avenues of 
time, and reads events to his hearers before they have 
occurred. 

Upon several of his children, he pronounces sentences 
of an intermediatae quality between the reprobation he 
bestows upon Reuben, Simeon, and Levi, and the cordial 
eulogy and promise which overflow from an exuberant heart 
upon Judah and J oseph. J udah receives, in the mysterious 
foreshadowing, upon his line, of the mighty Redeemer, the 
most exalted blessing. But Joseph has crowded into his 
own span of life every various and satisfying gift of an 
exhaustless Providence, to atone to him for the cruelty 
with which his brethren, breaking the cords of nature in 
their own hearts, had plotted against his life, and sold 


Jacob’s blessing. 


75 


him into bondage. Verily Judah and Joseph receive 
from their dying father only blessings. And Zebulon 
and Issachar, Dan and Gad, Asher and Naphtali, receive 
each his own blessing, in a various allotment of success 
or advantage. 

But the question returns, upon a survey of that whole 
drama of life about the death-bed of the patriarch, how 
can Reuben, and Simeon, and Levi, be said to have been 
blessed ? Do not the benedictions of the chosen sons 
even aggravate the upbraidings upon the condemned ? 
And the brilliance in the picture, that falls upon those 
two favorite heads, cast into deepened shadow and double 
gloom the unfortunate members of the family? 

No ; these three reprobate children have, in the very 
censure of their father, their own blessing too. His 
blessing to them is a revelation of their evil characters 
and imminent danger. To have hidden these from them, 
and prophesied smooth things, would have been not a 
blessing but a curse. His kindness to them, the greatest 
kindness in this world, is the truth. The last and greatest 
office of love he can do them, is to hold up the mirror 
before the features of their own hearts. For did not the 
old man know, that if, by thus flashing back their own 
spiritual countenance upon them, he could bring them to 
repentance and amendment, even the blessings bestowed 
upon Judah and Joseph could not exceed those really, 
and in the end, bestowed upon them ? Does not his brief 
and penetrating speech seem to say, that the causes of 
blessing or misery, even as agents of the Almighty, lie 
wrapped up in human character ; and that no mere words 


76 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


of benediction or promise, can ever counterbalance those, 
or avail to bless him, who is resolved on cursing himself? 
— that the prophet cannot alter, though he foresee, the 
event ? — that the father cannot help his child’s fortune, 
but by helping his soul ? 

Yes, the experience of the century and a half, through 
which the patriarch had lived, seems to have laid its 
lessons .on his dying tongue, and to have expelled all 
parental doting from the last tones of his appeal to those 
who were all, no doubt, the beloved of his heart. Had 
he loved them less, he might have fondled ; but, as he 
loved them truly, he warned and blessed them indeed. 

And from that great age and wisdom, in w T hich several 
lives of our human generations were blended, an admoni- 
tion of universal reach and power seems to come forth; 
The truth of Heaven appears to speak in the voice of a 
man. The immutable laws of God are published by a 
messenger of his providence. The divine promises and 
threats are verified by one who had continued long 
enough to see them settled in the certain course of 
earthly affairs, and to put the seal of inevitable fact on 
the declared counsels of the Eternal Mind. 

The death-bed of Jacob thus has a meaning for us, as 
well as for his sons and their tribes. The dying voice of 
the patriarch becomes a preacher of righteousness to all 
time. His great example teaches us, that sincerity is a 
benediction ; that complaisant concealment and tender 
withholding of the case as it actually is, even from those 
dearest to us, is an injury ; and that truth is the only 
thing which can be spoken “ in love.” We learn to give, 


Jacob’s blessing. 


77 


and we desire to have, in life or in death, the Patriarch’s 
Blessing. 

The scene, whose traits we have been delineating, 
comes to a striking and characteristic close. “ And 
when J acob had made an end of commanding his sons, 
he gathered up his feet into the bed, and yielded up the 
ghost.” As though he died and departed out of the 
world by a voluntary act, having, under God, held his 
life till he could perform his paternal office, and pronounce 
his fatherly blessing in these mingled notes of encourage- 
ment and admonition. This being done, he was ready to 
go. His spirit wa3 no longer detained by any earthly 
call, but, casting off its last encumbrance, “ light from 
its load,” it freely rose to him “ who gave it.” Appro- 
priate end of human existence ! Fitting translation of 
the human soul ! Becoming exit from all human rela- 
tions, with a faithful discharge of the greatest duty those 
relations involve, — the duty of a parent to his child ! 

The sons of Jacob bury their father, according as he 
himself had commanded, with his u fathers,” and nearest 
kindred, to whom he would cling, even in the dust. The 
greatness of his life, and the righteous dignity of his 
death, went to hallow for ever his grave. 


7 * 


MOSES DISCOVERED AND PRESERVED BY THE DAUGHTER 
OE KING PHARAOH. 


BY REV. GEORGE W. BETHUNE, D.D. 

“ The babe wept ; and she had compassion on him, 
and said, This is one of the Hebrew children.” 

You know the story. The babe is the infant Moses. 
He has been hidden, until he can he hidden no longer, 
from the cruel decree that every new-born son of Israel 
should he cast into the river. Sad, hut not despairing, 
for her faith was strong in God, his mother has woven a 
little ark of bulrushes, and laid him in it, among the 
sedges by the river’s brink. The daughter of Pharaoh, 
in the simplicity of ancient manners, perhaps as a reli- 
gious rite, goes to bathe. She sees the cradle-like ark, 
and sends one of her maidens to fetch it ; “ and when 
she opened it, she saw the child ; and behold the babe 
wept, and she had compassion on him.” 

IIow natural ! A weeping babe and a pitying woman ! 
What heart could withstand the tears of a helpless child ? 
What woman’s heart would not yearn to take within its 
warm sanctuary the wailing outcast from a mother’s 
arms ? How natural that wealth and power should seize 
upon the cheap but exquisite luxury of giving shelter to 
the homeless and nurture to the perishing ! 


MOSES DISCOVERED AND PRESERVED. 


79 


Such kindness were, indeed, natural. The world is 
filled with plenty for all its human family, although the 
poor are many and the rich few. And thus does God 
teach us, by nature itself, that none should be in want 
while any have more than enough. But, alas ! the 
human heart is most unnatural ; it hardens under the 
bounty of God, and forgets the wretchedness of others, 
the more it enjoys. The praises we lavish upon charity, 
show how seldom it is found ; and that which man, like 
God, should delight to give, is garlanded as though it 
were a sacrifice. 

Yet, thanks to grace not altogether withheld from 
fallen humanity ! there are some who rise above this 
common selfishness, and whom no fortunes, however high, 
can make careless of another’s sorrows. The princely 
lady in the text, was one. Had she been only rich and 
high-born, the divine pen would never have written a 
word to tell us that the woman had ever lived. Mere 
riches and rank, which riches give, are but the gilding of 
worthless clay, to be stripped from it by the heirs, when 
the vile dust of him who hoarded or spent it for himself 
goes to rottenness with his memory. 0 ! if they who 
deck themselves gorgeously for the eye of the world, and 
fling open their doors for the revel of their parasites, 
knew how malice points the finger, and envy sneers, and 
hate hisses, and scandal whispers behind their backs ; 
how the few, whom instinct forces them to love, watch 
for every token of their coming death ; and how shame 
and everlasting contempt await them in the eternal world, 
they would smile less fondly upon themselves, and, per- 


80 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


chance, think it better to buy some prayers from the 
grateful poor, and return to a faithful God some portion 
of what he has given them, that they may find it again in 
heaven. The mere rich, the rich without goodness or 
mercy, are like the marsh, into which the waters flow only 
to stagnate and grow vile. There are none less worthy 
of love from men, and none more hateful in the sight of 
God. But how beautiful is the life of those, who, like 
springs filled to overflowing with the gifts of God, send 
forth their goodness in streams, to refresh, to gladden, 
and to save ! 

The Christian traveller wanders among the ruins of 
Egyptian greatness, and, as he gazes upon the mysterious 
pyramids, or the serene face of the colossal Sphinx, won- 
ders yet more at the forgetfulness, which, like the sands 
over the cities where they reigned, has covered the names 
and the story of those far-past dynasties ; but, as he turns 
his steps toward the river, and sees the bulrushes waving 
upon its brink, he thinks of her who walked there more 
than thirty-five centuries since, and saved from the 
waters a weeping child ; and we, on this far-west Atlan- 
tic shore, bless her memory for that one deed of kindness, 
which blooms fresh and fragrant in the garden of the 
Lord, while the warlike fame of Sesostris is wrapped 
about, like a shrivelled mummy, in doubtful hieroglyphics. 

There is a better and a truer immortality vouchsafed 
to goodness, — an immortality we cannot believe with- 
held from her, Gentile though she was ; for while God, 
after making the wrath of man to praise him, punishes 
the wicked instrument, he is not wont to leave hearts 


MOSES DISCOVERED AND PRESERVED. 


81 


and hands which he has made the channels of his kind- 
ness unsanctified, or without reward. “ The fashion of 
this world passeth away,” like the shifting scenes of 
a drama ; and soon all who have walked their little hour 
upon its stage, must stand, stripped of every false show, 
before the judgment-seat of Jesus Christ. His angry 
voice will drive into everlasting punishment, as accursed, 
the murderous conqueror, the selfish proud, the rich who 
forgot God, and the lovers of pleasure more than of him ; 
but not one kind act, or word spoken in his name, will be 
forgotten by him ; and the faithful follower of God’s own 
Son, our elder brother, who went about doing good, heal- 
ing the sick, pitying the mourner* teaching the poor, and 
taking up little children into his arms, shall enter, amidst 
the acclamations of angels, the joy of his Lord, decorated 
with works of mercy and holiness, the only blazonry of 
heaven. Then shall we reap immortality as we have 
sown in time. 

We must not overlook a peculiar nobleness of soul 
discovered by this excellent lady’s own words : “ The 
babe wept, and she had compassion on him, and she said, 
This is one of the Hebrew children.” She pitied the 
weeping child ; but pitied him the more because he was 
a Hebrew. The Hebrews were an enslaved people. 
The Egyptians saw with fear the quick growth, in num- 
bers and strength, of a race marked as distinct from 
them, and filling the land. From a cruel foresight, they 
“ made them to serve with rigor, and made their lives bit- 
ter with hard bondage, in mortar and in brick, and in all 
manner of service in the field.” It is easy to understand 


82 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


how such systematic oppression degraded them in their 
master’s eyes ; and the more so, because, as their story 
afterwards shows, it degraded them in their character. 
It is the worst part of slavery, that it crushes the spirit. 
That was a base and coward spirit which murmured at 
freedom in the desert, and longed for the flesh-pots of 
Egypt again. The children of the land grew up with 
scornful prejudice against the miserable drudges, whom 
they saw laden with burdens, or driven to live like beasts ; 
and nowhere could this contempt have been more busy 
than in the court of Pharaoh, where the national policy 
was determined upon, and the example of public opinion 
set. The young princess had often heard, from the 
highest councillors, curses and wrath heaped upon every 
Hebrew head. She knew that her own father ground 
them to the dust, and was bent upon the death of every 
man-child born to them. Who could wonder, if, borne 
away by the general feeling, even her kindly heart had 
shut itself against pity for the bondsmen of Egypt ? It 
would have been but like mankind, among whom there 
is no prejudice so strong as that of caste, and no stain so 
damning as the trace of servile labor. No ; she had a. 
mind above the common thought ; nor would she sink her- 
self to a moral meanness beneath slavery itself. She had 
compassion on the babe, because he was a Hebrew ; she 
took him under her care, because all else would have 
spurned him as the offspring of a bondman. Admirable 
woman ! There were none like her then ; there are few 
like her now. 

How strangely wise is the providence of God ! When 


MOSES DISCOVERED AND PRESERVED. 


83 


Moses was laid, by his anguished mother, among the 
sedges by the river’s brink, who would not have said, 
“ Unhappy child, thus cast forth from a pious house, to 
die with hunger, or be devoured by the monstrous croco- 
dile ! ” Yet see, — God had for that child a vast and 
difficult work. Had he been allowed to grow up as a 
Hebrew, he would have had the disgrace, the habits, and 
the temper of a slave. He becomes the beloved son of a 
king’s daughter. Had he lived only in the palace, he 
would have lost the faith of Israel, for the idolatries of 
Egypt. He is returned to his prayerful mother’s arms, 
and the name of Jehovah, the God of Abraham, and 
Isaac, and Jacob, written deep upon his heart. Had he 
been unused to rank, and his mind unenlarged by learn- 
ing, he would have been unfit to rule the turbulent tribes, 
and been made giddy by the elevation. He is trained 
at Pharaoh’s court, in all the science of Egypt. Had he 
never been forced to toil and service, he could not have 
felt such dependence upon God, or such sympathy for his 
people. The quick spirit that slew the task-master, is 
trained to prudence by forty years of a shepherd’s life 
on the plains of Midian. Never would he have been the 
first man to rise from the people and achieve freedom, 
the legislator from whom all good laws have been learned, 
and the most striking type of our Deliverer from sin and 
Guide to heaven, if he had not lain among the sedge, 
an abandoned child. To whom was given the honor of 
saving him for that career of wisdom and usefulness, 
but to the meek-eyed woman, who had compassion on a 
weeping babe, and said, u This is one of the Hebrew 
children ” ? 


84 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


Here is a lesson for us, that we take heed how we 
despise a little one. There is joy and hope when a 
goodly child is horn unto the world ; yet it is a fearful 
thing to look upon its tiny form, and think of the intel- 
lect and affection, the passion and the will, hidden within 
such narrow compass ; the life of vice or of virtue, just 
begun ; the mischief or the good that little tongue may 
speak, and that little hand may do ; and, above all, the 
immortality of woe or of happiness that must follow. 
The children of good men, who had every advantage of 
education at command, have not always been kept from 
infamy ; and careful tenderness has often nursed for 
futurity the serpent libertine, the tyrant savage of his 
kind, and the infidel sophist, whose lying wit has damned 
to death uncounted souls. But when a child has no 
such early watching, and is left to ripen in sin, the down- 
ward force of our nature unchecked, herding with the 
vile and ignorant, seeing no example other than evil, 
how can we expect him to be an honest, peaceful, and 
good man ? There is much of declamation about the 
wickedness of the lower classes; but for my part, I 
marvel, that when temptation is so strong, and encour- 
agement from others so small, the animal so fully devel- 
oped, and the mind so stunted, there are not a hundred 
instances for one, of crime, — sensual, rapacious, or brutal. 
Our duty in this thing is clear ; our responsibility vast. 
They who have the means and the intelligence to do it, 
yet neglect to take care that the children of the poor be 
educated, are verily partakers of all the crimes those 
children may commit ; and God will hold them to the 


MOSES DISCOVERED AND PRESERVED. 


85 


account. If the judgment of society were like that of 
Him who will judge us all, how changed the world would 
be ! How many, before whom we now uncap, as to our 
most respectable and distinguished citizens, would be 
driven to the pillory of public contempt ! How many an 
inmate of the penitentiary would put to shame the pol- 
ished sinner of the upper classes ! Let me sketch an 
illustration. 

Here is a man on whom God has bestowed a powerful 
mind. Every door of knowledge has been opened to 
him, from his most early years. His fellow-citizens have 
sought the aid of his talents, and made him rich. They 
have raised him to office, and he has become great. His 
courteous manners are attractive, and fashion flatters 
him. He adds to all this the graceful decency of a well- 
bred religion, and the church solicits his championship. 
But all the while his heart is cold ; he has no fellow- 
feeling with man, as man. He grows in wealth, influ- 
ence, and reputation, only to congratulate himself upon 
his success. The God he worships, and the world he 
serves, are himself. On a Sunday morning he drives 
from church, and leaves his carriage at the door of his 
broad mansion ; then he is looked up by a shivering 
child, begging for a crumb from his table, and hoping for 
a kind word from his lips. It is an orphan-boy, who has 
no friend to tell him there is a God, or a path of virtue ; 
and no shelter but among drunkards, harlots, and out- 
laws. There may be within that squalid raggedness a 
mild, loving heart, a resolute courage, and a generous 
wish to uplift himself. But the man who might, by the 


THE ROD OF MOSES MIRACULOUSLY CHANGED INTO A 
SERPENT. 

BY KEY. GEORGE RICHARDS. 

The event which the artist has here depicted, emi- 
nently striking and impressive in itself, derives, perhaps, 
its highest interest from the scene of its occurrence, the 
individual who was its solitary witness, and the career to 
which it formed the appropriate prelude. We are intro- 
duced, at once, to the classic ground of miracle and 
divine manifestation — “ Horeb, the mount of God.” 
The name in this connection denotes, probably, the w r hole 
cluster of mountains occupying the central and southern 
portions of that part of Arabia Petrsea inserted between 
the arms of the Red Sea. As seen from one of its 
highest peaks, it appears “ a sea of mountains, black, 
abrupt, naked, weather-worn peaks, — a fitting spot 
where the very genius of desolation might rear his 
throne.” * The central range, running northwest and 
southeast, is terminated at its northern extremity, by 
the majestic front of Sinai, rising perpendicularly above 
the plain, to an altitude of from twelve to fifteen hundred 
feet. From its base, that may be “ approached and 


* Robinson's Researches, Yol. i. p. 164. 


niuir ; i 7 


\ 



\Y. L.Omishv, New York. 





THE ROD OF MOSES. 


touched,” stretches backward, for more than a mile, a 
grassy slope, enclosed on every side by “rugged and 
venerable mountains of dark granite, stern, naked, splin- 
tered peaks and ridges of indescribable grandeur.” * 

This quiet and secluded retreat, the only spot amid 
these bold and precipitous ranges which at all meets the 
conditions of the narrative, — being a place suitable for 
grazing, on the “ back,” namely, west of the desert, and 
adjacent to Horeb, — was, in all probability, the scene of 
the event we are to notice.f 

Environed by this dark and colossal amphitheatre of 
hills and precipices, soon to blaze with incessant light- 
nings, and resound with thunders and the trump of God ; 
on this green oasis, yet to bend beneath the tramp of 
more than two millions of people, the multitudinous hum 
of human voices, mingling with the bleating of sheep 
and goats, sits, at the period we are describing, in quiet 
and solitude, a shepherd, tending his flocks. Not the 
least remarkable among the objects here presented to us, 
is this solitary man. 

Among the Hebrews, the descendants of those who, in 
the days of Jacob and Joseph, emigrated into Egypt, 
were two of the tribe of Levi, who, amid their captivity 
and its multiplied hardships, were solaced with a child of 
uncommon beauty and attractiveness. Afraid of that 
tyranny which, not content with embittering their own 
hard lot, had ordered the extermination of their male 
offspring, these parents retained their infant for three 


* Robinson’s Researches, Vol. i. p. 130. 


f lb. p. 176. 


90 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


months in concealment, till, fearful of detection, the 
mother deposited it in a skiff of papyrus,* made imper- 
vious to water ; and leaving it among the rushes of the 
Nile, awaited the result. It happened that the king’s 
daughter, going with her attendants to bathe, discovered 
it. A nurse was sought for, and the mother of the child 
presented herself. Intrusted for a time to her care, 
the boy was at length restored to the princess, adopted 
into the royal family, and educated in all the wisdom of 
the Egyptians — the nation then in the forefront of civil- 
ization ; and whose palaces, temples, porticos, obelisks, 
statues, and canals, after the waste of thirty centuries, 
are still the wonder of the world. The honors and privi- 
leges thus showered on the young Levite, did not alienate 
his affections from his people, nor steel his heart to their 
misfortunes. When about forty years of age, visiting 
them, one day, at their toil, he saw a Hebrew beaten by 
his task-master. Exasperated at the outrage, — seeing 
himself its only witness, — he killed the Egyptian, and 
hid his body in the sand. The affair reached the ears of 
the king. A warrant was issued against its perpetrator. 
He fled ; and we next hear of him by a well-side, in the 
land of Midian — the territory adjoining the Gulf of 
’Akabah. The daughters of the priest, driving thither 
their flocks to water, were rudely repulsed by shepherds. 
The resolute stranger, again the vindicator of the right, 
interfered, and successfully, in their behalf. 


•* Light boats of oziers, bound with papyrus, were common among the 
Egyptians. — Wilkinson; Vol. ill. pp. 185, 186. 


THE ROD OF MOSES. 


91 


As might be expected, his manly gallantry was duly 
reported at home, where he was welcomed with Oriental 
hospitality, and made, ultimately, a member of the house- 
hold. For forty years, the courtly and accomplished 
exile, apparently forgetful of the regal honors he had 
deserted, pursued the peaceful occupation of a shepherd, 
tending his flock on the greensward thus embosomed 
amid the stupendous crags and splintered peaks of 
Horeb, the mount of God. 

It is he, then, who is before us — Moses, the son of 
Amram and Jochebed, of the tribe of Levi ; the adopted 
son of the daughter of Pharaoh ; the son-in-law and 
herdsman of Jethro, the priest of Midian. 

The period being reached in that economy of which all 
history is the development, when the nation destined 
from eternity to be the repository of the true religion, 
was to be led out of the house of bondage into the prom- 
ised land ; an individual was to be chosen as its deliverer, 
guide, legislator, and instructor, who would command 
the confidence and respect of the Hebrews ; whose tal- 
ents, accomplishments, and personal bearing, would se- 
cure him influence at court ; who had been trained to 
endure w r eariness, privations, and opposition, with meek- 
ness and resignation ; and whose religious character and 
deportment rendered him a suitable medium of communi- 
cation between God and man. The same providence 
that created the exigency, had raised up and qualified 
the man to meet it. We have seen him a shepherd in 
Midian. 

As he thus followed his unambitious calling, suddenly 


92 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


a thorn-bush took fire, lighting up the sky, the plain, and 
the majestic panorama that surrounded him. He drew 
nearer. The trunk, the branches, the twigs, the leaves, 
each attenuated point and fibre, glowed in the fierce 
heat, — yet unconsumed! Rooted to the spot, his eye 
riveted on the struggling but baffled flame, a voice from 
its midst addressed him, and he found himself in the visi- 
ble presence of God. “ Approach not hither. Remove 
thy sandals from thy feet ; the place where thou standest 
is holy ground.” 

Jehovah proceeded to disclose his design in this inter- 
view : The covenant-friend and protector of the Hebrews, 
as of their fathers, long the witness of their degradation, 
and of the arrogant injustice of their masters, He had 
now come to break the pride of the oppressor, and eman- 
cipate its victims ; and of both, Moses was selected to be 
the instrument. With a modesty and self-distrust, — the 
ordinary attendant on the highest merit, — the awe-struck 
shepherd hesitates. Who shall he say sent him ? “ The 

great I am, the Self-Existent, the God of Abraham, and 
of Isaac, and of Jacob.” 

But what credentials can he plead ? u What is that 
in thine hand ? ” It was his walking-staff, to whose use 
he must have been habituated in Egypt. * “ Cast it on 

the ground f ” It became a serpent ! and Moses fled 
before it. “ Now put forth thine hand, and take it by 
the tail l” It was a staff again. 

* They were in common use among the higher classes, and are repre- 
sented on the monuments, of .from three to six feet in length. — Wilkinson, 
Vol. iii. p. 386. 


THE ROD OF MOSES. 


93 


Such the scene, the individual, the event,, which the 
artist has portrayed. 

In the back-ground, Sinai — the neglected flock clam- 
bering along its sides ; nearer, the bush in flames ; in 
the fore-ground, Moses, gazing with awe and terror on 
the miraculous transformation. 

This miracle was twofold, — a simple rod, rigid, inani- 
mate, transformed into a living, moving reptile ; the rep- 
tile re-transformed into a rod. But was this really a 
miracle ? Yes ; if the narrative may be trusted. Lan- 
guage could not be more explicit: “It — the rod — 
became a serpent “It — the serpent — became a 
rod.” 

Are not such changes contrary to all experience ? 
Contrary to all ordinary experience, they doubtless are ; 
to say contrary to all experience, were to beg the ques- 
tion, to presuppose that even this instance is no excep- 
tion, which is the point in dispute. Are not such occur- 
rences unnatural ? Yes ; they are contrary to the laws 
of nature. The laws of nature are the ordinary modes 
in which the God of nature acts. No one can prove that 
they are the only modes, or, in every possible instance, 
the best modes, but only the ordinary modes. The same 
general good which requires that, in all ordinary cases, 
the divine activity should manifest itself in accordance 
with fixed laws, — the like causes, under the like circum- 
stances, producing the like effects, — may require, in some 
extraordinary cases, a departure from the .rule. Thus, 
these very variations may themselves be the development 
of a yet higher law. Apply these principles to the case 


94 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


before us. The great end to -which earth and time, with 
all their productions, events, and laws are subordinate, 
is the display of the divine perfections in the moral reno- 
vation of our race. The power alone adequate to this 
reformation, is Christianity. This Christianity is to be 
heralded by the successive voices of prophets, prefigured 
by external rites and emblems, and engrafted on the the- 
ocracy. A particular family, selected by infinite wisdom, 
trained in the severe school of adversity, rescued by 
supernatural interference, isolated from the surrounding 
idolatry, is to be the recipient of the divine oracles and 
institutions, and to perpetuate them till the advent of the 
Messiah. 

An individual capable of heading such a movement ; 
giving it the right impulse, and in the right direction ; 
leaving his moral and intellectual impress on his own and 
all after generations, seems an important prerequisite. 
He will need not only the preparatory discipline, but a 
clear and abiding conviction that God has indeed dele- 
gated to him this high mission. This conviction it was 
the evident design of the miracle we are contemplating, 
to awaken and keep alive. His staff, probably his inti- 
mate companion for years, Moses was directed to cast 
upon the ground. On the instant, it was instinct with 
life, — eyes gleamed, scales glistened in the sun, a 
serpent 

“ bowed 

His turret crest, and sleek, enamel neck.” 


Whose agency, but God’s, was adequate to so surpris- 
ing a result ? But the confidence which this miracle 


THE ROD OF MOSES. 


95 


inspired, must be perpetuated. There should be no 
harassing doubts in the presence of Pharaoh, nor by the 
sea, nor in the wilderness. Hence, the serpent is re- 
transformed into the staff. It is to go with its possessor, 
— his divining-rod, — through all his wonder-working 
career. Ex. 4 : 17. That rod— itself a perpetual mir- 
acle — called, down the mingled hail and thunder, and 
made fire to run along upon the ground. That rod 
summoned the portentous cloud of locusts, 


“ That o’er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung 
Like night, and darkened all the land of Nile.” 

That rod divided the sea on either hand, affording an 
exit to the Israelites, and drowning, in its impetuous 
recoil, the pursuing armies. That rod smote the rock 
at Rephidim, “ turning the wilderness into a standing 
water.” That rod rolled backward the tide of battle, 
bringing disaster on the fortunes of Amalek. In all 
these instances, its presence and agency are asserted ; 
in others, they are apparently inferred. One other in- 
stance, where the allusion, though possibly to the rod of 
Aaron, is most probably to that of Moses, is the last. 
The “ great and terrible wilderness ” was crossed, and 
the Hebrews — now another generation — * had arrived a 
second time at Kadesh, on the borders of Canaan, when, 
again, “ there was no water for the congregation.” 
“ Hear now, ye rebels, can * we bring you water out of 
this rock ? ” was the expression of that distrust which 


* So Rosenmttller and Maurer. 


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SACRED TABLEAUX. 


excluded Moses and Aaron for ever from the promised 
land. 

Yet the rod — “ his rod”r — which Moses had taken 
from the divine presence, and by the divine command, 
had not lost its virtue. The twice-smitten rock 
“ opened,” and man and beast shared its refreshing 
streams. ’Ain-el-Weibeh, the most frequented watering- 
place in the valley of ’Arabah, is the probable site of 
Kadesh.* In the back-ground tower the ragged and 
purple summits of Hor, the burial-place of Aaron ; and 
in the vale beneath still gush the unwearied waters. 

The rod whose authentic history I have thus narrated, 
is famed both in Mohammedan and Jewish legends. 
They describe it as the growth of Paradise, transmitted 
through Enoch, Shenr, and the Patriarchs, to Joseph ; 
from the palace of the Pharaohs transferred to Midian, 
where it became eventually the companion and property 
of Moses. 

Of its ultimate disposition we are ignorant. The 
expression in Numbers, “from before Jehovah” — 
(Num. 20 : 9. Comp. 17 : 7, 10,) — would seem to in- 
timate that, when not in use, it was laid up in the Taber- 
nacle, with Aaron’s rod, that budded. There it may 
long have survived the scenes in which it was so con- 
spicuous an actor. Yet, as it is nowhere included 
among the revered relics of the sanctuary, we might 
conclude, with the Arabic legend, that it accompanied its 
owner to his mysterious grave. Not unnatural, nor 


* Robinson’s Researches, Yol. n. p. 582. 


THE ROD OF MOSES. 


9T 


unpleasing, is the picture of Moses, now in his hundred 
and twentieth year, — forty years in Egypt, forty in 
Midian, forty in the wilderness, — climbing, by its aid, 
to the top of Pisgah, to survey the promised heritage of 
his people, and die on the threshold of Palestine. 


THE FIRST-BORN SLAIN THROUGHOUT THE LAND OF EGYPT. 

BY TIMOTHY BIGELOW, ESQ. 

The series of Divine visitations which, in fearful 
array, came sweeping down upon the devoted land of 
Egypt, had failed in their design of delivering the de- 
scendants of Jacob from the haughty dominion of Pha- 
raoh, and restoring them to freedom. In vain had the 
Nile, worshipped with divine honors, been contaminated 
w r ith blood ; in vain had the sacred bulls, Apis and 
Mnevis, with the other cattle of Egypt, perished ; in 
vain had defilement desecrated the priest, and pollution 
entered every house ; in vain, amid awful thunders, had 
a tempest of rain and hail brought destruction to herbage 
and death to man ; in vain had swarming locusts obscured 
the sun, and destroyed every green thing that remained ; 
in vain had thick darkness shrouded the land, as with a 
funereal pall; in vain had the wisdom of Egypt been 
silenced, and . the enchantments of her priesthood com 
founded ; in vain had Isis, Osiris, Horus, Thoth, and all 
the enshrined deities of the realm, been proved power- 
less ; — * still Pharaoh, as he looked from his palace-halls 
upon a country desolate ; as he saw disease totter by him, 
and famine sit at his gate, relented not, but sternly re- 
solved upon the continuance of Israel’s bondage. 


THE FIRST-BORN SLAIN. 


99 


Though the obduracy of feeble man thus presumed to 
oppose the commands, and disregard the miracles of 
Jehovah, yet there was another cloud hanging over the 
land, — dark with more terrible vengeance, — at whose 
outbreak every barrier with which human pride could 
surround itself was destined to be swept away ; and 
monarch and menial were alike to be involved in one 
common calamity. Unmoved by the murmurings of his 
brethren, and undeterred by the duplicity of Pharaoh, 
Moses hesitated not to perform every act enjoined upon 
him ; nor did fear one moment shake his faith in the ulti- 
mate redemption of Israel. Yet, how must his heart 
have been gladdened, and how must his spirit have 
swelled with gratitude, when the veiled future was opened 
to him, and he was permitted to see, in near prospect, 
his rejoicing countrymen commencing their march toward 
Canaan. 

Night came down upon the pomp and power of Egypt, 
— a night, the memorials of which, embittered by tears, 
were to endure through many generations. Instructed 
by their leader in the observance of the Passover, and 
warned also of the great dangers which threatened the 
land, the Jewish families assembled early in their homes, 
to avert from their own dwellings the impending evil. 
In every house a table is spread. On it is placed a 
paschal lamb, one year old, — unbroken, unblemished. 
Beside it are bitter herbs, — emblems of a harsh cap- 
tivity, — and cakes of unleavened bread. The door-posts 
of every habitation have been sprinkled with blood ; and 
around each humble board, with girded loins, with shoes 


100 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


on their feet and staves in their hands, are gathered the 
descendants of Jacob. 

See them, these captive Hebrews, as they meet in their 
different homes, to celebrate the feast. They do not 
look like men to whom the night is one of merriment. 
They talk almost in whispers to themselves, as though 
afraid the walls might overhear them. Anxious they 
appear ; for they remember who it is that flies through 
Egypt’s realm this night : but they breathe more freely, 
when they recall the promise of protection given them. 
They walk to and fro, as if swayed by the waves of fear ; 
and their step is noiseless. They eat a portion of the lamb, 
at times, but a small portion only ; it is an hour that 
conquers hunger. They look abroad ; nothing is seen. 
They listen; nothing is heard. The children ask, in 
wonder, what all this means? Soon will they learn. 
Midnight draws near. More anxious are the watchers ; 
fainter their words. Again they look and listen. Ho 
sight, no sound. Nothing moves, save where the priest 
celebrates the nightly mysteries of Isis ; or where the 
bird that shuns the day glides through the air. Silence 
and sleep are on their thrones. Darkness curtains 
Egypt. ’T is midnight ! 

And now, on swift but noiseless wing, the angel that 
had been commissioned flies forth on his errand of de- 
struction. He enters cottage and palace ; and, where he 
enters, smites. Soon is the stillness broken. A mother 
wakes ; she finds her first-born dead. According to the 
Egyptian custom, she rushes through the streets, rending 
her hair, and uttering loud lamentations. Others are 


THE FIRST-BORN SLAIN. 


101 


aroused by her cries. They discover that the same fate 
has befallen their offspring. Forth they pour from their 
afflicted homes, and with frantic wailings run to and fro. 
Pharaoh and his servants, made equals by grief, rise up 
in terror, murmuring to themselves, “ We be dead men.” 
Moses is called into the presence of Egypt’s king. He is 
entreated to leave the land ; himself, his people, children, 
flocks, and all. And leave at once ; for alarm makes 
every moment that he lingers perilous. Yet would the 
monarch crave a blessing from the Hebrew, before he 
departs. Changed are now their places. Moses is lord, 
Pharaoh the subject; and, in moral majesty, the Jewish 
lawgiver towers above the prince whom the accident of 
birth placed upon the throne of Egypt, — at once a sov- 
ereign and a conqueror. 

Morning draws near, and the Israelites have begun 
their march. Six hundred thousand men they number, 
strong and brave ; and with them are their wives, their 
children, their flocks, their herds. Glittering robes, and 
gold and silver jewels, that had formerly arrayed the 
proud beauties of Egypt, now adorn those women who 
w'ere once Egypt’s slaves. As the multitude sweep by 
the temples and palaces of the land, trembling priests 
and weeping matrons gaze — with wonder, yet with awe 
— upon that mysterious people, who have been so sig- 
nally avenged, so miraculously preserved. But on they 
move, the mighty host; praising, as they march, their 
dread Deliverer, who has been so terrible to their task- 
masters, so merciful to themselves. 

Three and thirty centuries have elapsed since that 


9 * 


102 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


eventful night ; but, during all the varied fortunes of the 
children of Israel, they have never forgotten the Being 
who humbled the might of Egypt, and led forth their 
fathers from the house of bondage. In prosperity or in 
adversity, in wealth or in poverty, in honor or in dis- 
grace, in freedom or in servitude, they have still cele- 
brated the feast commemorative of their great deliver- 
ance. Whether powerful and respected under the reign 
of David and his son, or weak and trembling before the 
murderous march of Antiochus Epiphanes ; whether wan- 
dering in captivity by the banks of the Euphrates, or 
teaching the. mysteries of Rabbinical lore in the schools 
of Sura and Nahardea ; whether, in Arabia, bowing down 
before the frenzied valor* of Mahomet and his host, or 
high in wealth and honor under the early caliphs of Bag- 
dad ; whether shining among the rich, the powerful, and 
the learned of Cordova and Granada, or compelled to 
flee, poor and unprotected, before the inquisitorial terrors 
of Torquemada ; whether holding offices of trust and 
places of distinction under Charlemagne, or ignominiously 
retiring before the exterminating edicts of Philip Augus- 
tus and Charles the Sixth ; whether following Barcochab, 
Sabbathai, and countless others, who. at times have 
claimed the title of Messiahship, or robbed and insulted 
by the mad multitudes of Peter the Hermit and Walter 
the Pennyless ; whether purchasing the protection of 
proud barons, or shunning the presence of valiant 
knights; whether standing on the steps of thrones, or 
pining in the cells of dungeons ; whether trading in 
Christian slaves under the Gothic kings of Italy, or quail- 


THE FIRST-BORN SLAIN. 


108 


ing beneath the lash in the cities of Northern Africa ; — 
in short, in every region whither fortune has led them or 
despair has driven them ; in every situation which it is 
the lot of man to hold ; under the severest trials to which 
human faith and fortitude can be subjected ; they have 
still preserved, in grateful memorial, the goodness of their 
fathers’ God in Egypt. And as, year by year, they have 
gathered around the- paschal table, the sire has continued 
to tell the son of that terrible yet triumphant night, when 
Jehovah arose in majesty to smite the oppressor, and 
“ let the oppressed go free.*’ 

We turn, now, from the literal signification of the 
Passover, as applicable to the Jewish state, to the mys- 
tical meaning which it possesses in reference to the 
greater deliverance, effected by a mightier sacrifice, for 
the salvation of the world. Man had fallen. In bond- 
age to sin, he lived unmindful of the grand object of 
existence, and the sublime futurity before him. The 
angel of spiritual death flew abroad in the moral midnight 
of the universe, consigning -to the dismal shadows of a 
pagan tomb the sons and the daughters of earth. A 
great offering was to be made for man. And amid the 
insults of a heartless, soldiery, and the revilings of an 
infuriated people ; suffering the ignominy of the w f orst 
malefactor, and enduring all the tortures that malice 
could inflict ; with dark and terrific portents, on Calvary’s 
mount, was the spotless Lamb of God slain for the. world’s 
redemption. 

As, by the events accompanying the celebration of the 
paschal feast in Egypt, the Hebrews were delivered from 


104 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


their servitude, so, by the consequences of this godlike 
sacrifice, mankind were led forth from their house of 
spiritual bondage, to the fair country watered by the 
river of life. Finished was their slavery to a hard 
master, whose service was death ; passed was that exist- 
ence, unillumined by any ray of faith or hope ; gone was 
the dread of annihilation, which overhung the tomb. A 
new light dawned upon the world ; a new life was given 
to man. He stepped forth from the crumbling columns 
of an idolatrous superstition, not the perishing creature 
of Time, but the never-dying child of Eternity. He 
groped no longer in the cloudy midnight of doubt or 
despair ; he trod firmly beneath the sunlight of heaven. 
He was not, henceforth, to come with costly sacrifices, 
and lay them on the altar of a powerless idol — a mis- 
shapen fiend ; he was to bring the offering of a contrite 
heart, and present it before the Lord. He knelt no 
longer to an image which his own hands had fashioned, 
in a building made but to decay ; he prostrated himself 
before that mighty Jehovah who formed the earth from 
nothing, whose temple is the universe. He now breathed 
a purer atmosphere ; he enjoyed unimagined pleasures ; 
he entered upon a more exalted state of being ; and, at 
length, were unfolded to him those sublime secrets, which 
the uninspired wisdom of forty centuries had been unable 
to solve ; the true purpose of life, and the future destiny 
of the soul. 







\V. Ii.OrmsUv, New York. 






PHARAOH AND HIS HOST DROWNED IN THE RED SEA.' 


BY KEV. E. BEECHER, D.D. 

The artist has here undertaken to represent the 
destruction of Pharaoh and his host in the Red Sea. 

The leading idea in this tremendous scene is redemp- 
tion, — Pharaoh was destroyed that Israel might be 
redeemed ; the leading characteristics of the events 
are sublimity and terror. 

When the Lord looked through the pillar of fire and 
of the cloud, and troubled the host of the Egyptians ; 
when, at the outstretched rod of Moses, the sea returned 
to his strength, and the waters engulfed the chariots, 
and the horsemen, and all the host of Pharaoh; and 
when upon the seashore that vast army were cast pale 
' and lifeless, it was indeed an unequalled scene of terror. 

The people heard, and were^ afraid ; sorrow took hold 
on the inhabitants of Palestina ; the dukes of Edom 
were amazed ; the mighty men of Moab, trembling took 
hold upon them ; all the inhabitants of Canaan melted 
away. 

It is therefore the more delightful, to be assured that 
the main end of these terrific events was not wrath, but 
redemption to the people of God, and good-will towards 
man. 


106 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


The interests of humanity, and of the kingdom of God 
on earth, were then at stake. Notwithstanding the 
terrors of the flood, the nations were fast revolting from 
the worship of the one true God, and sinking into poly- 
theism, and all its pollutions and abominations. Egypt, 
the leading kingdom of the world, was a prominent leader 
in this great revolt. The claims of Jehovah to he the 
only true God, and his demand for the liberation of his 
people, when presented in the court of Egypt, w r ere 
rejected with scorn by her haughty king. The miracles 
of Moses were of no avail : the magicians of Egypt, 
acting in the names of their false gods, pretended to 
equal them. The insulting reply of Pharaoh was: I 
know not the- Lord — neither will I let the people go. . 

An issue was thus made before the world, in the great 
polytheistic controversy, which was to rage for thousands 
of years. A disclosure of Divine power was needed, 
adapted to overawe the guilty partisans of idolatry, and 
to decide the question in behalf of the God of Israel. 

God had foreseen and had prepared for this issue. 
Under his providence, Egypt had increased in wealth- 
and power, and Pharaoh had become the mightiest mon- 
arch of the age. Yet he and his kingdom worshipped 
false gods, and rejected the demands of Jehovah. There 
w r as a need, therefore, that the world should be made to 
know r , that neither his pow r er, nor that of his kingdom, 
nor that of his false gods, could defend him against the 
wrath of that Almighty Being whom he defied. And God 
ordered events with an intent that such a display should 
be made. 


PHARAOH AND HIS HOST. 


107 


This is the fearful import of the words of God to 
Pharaoh: I will send all my plagues on thee, and upon 
thy people, that thou mayest know that there is none like 
me in all the earth. And in very deed, for this cause 
have I raised thee up, to show in thee my power ; and 
that my name may be declared through all the earth. 

These terrific denunciations of God were literally 
fulfilled. Idolatrous Egypt was consumed by the fire of 
his anger, and prostrated by the tempests of his wrath. 
Pharaoh often and deeply moved, yet as often refused to 
submit and obey. At last, when the first-born were 
smitten, Egypt, in terror and desperation, drove out the 
people of God ; and yet, unwilling to lose his slaves, her 
unrelenting king girded on his armor, and summoned his 
hosts, to pursue the fugitives. Soon they were over- 
taken. On each side, mountains enclosed them ; behind 
them came the enemy, before them was the sea. 

Now, then, the time had come for the concluding act 
of this great drama of Divine retribution. 

And the angel of God which went before the camp of 
Israe], removed and went behind them ; and the pillar of 
the cloud went from before their face, and stood behind 
them ; and it came between the camp of the Egyptians 
and the camp of Israel. To' the one it was a cloud and 
darkness, — to the other it gave light, so that the one 
came not near the other all the night. 

Then, at the word of God, was the rod of Moses 
extended ; the sea was divided, and the waters stood up 
like a wall on the right hand and on the left. Cheered 
by the light of God, the people of Israel passed rapidly 


108 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


through. Troubled and dismayed by his frown, the 
Egyptians moved heavily on, till in terror they said, 
Let us flee ; for the Lord fighteth for Israel, and 
against us. 

Then said the Lord unto Moses, Stretch out thine 
hand over the sea. And Moses stretched forth his hand, 
and the waters returned, and covered the chariots, and 
the horsemen, and all the host of Pharaoh ; there re- 
mained not so much as one of them. 

“ Thus the Lord saved. Israel that day out of the 
hand of the Egyptians; and Israel saw the Egyptians 
dead on the seashore.” 

Thus was the honor of the one only and true God, the 
Creator of all things, gloriously vindicated in the midst 
of the idolatrous nations of the world. The issue was 
made with no feeble nation, with no obscure and power- 
less monarch. Egypt was the head of the idolatrous 
world, and Pharaoh was the head of Egypt. The god 
of this world, the great author of idolatry, had no more 
powerful organization through which to sustain his systems 
of impious revolt. By this one blow, then, God not only 
broke the head of idolatrous nations, but of the primal 
author of all revolt from God ; and, in the doom of Pha- 
raoh and of Egypt, made a clear disclosure of his own 
final doom, and that of his whole kingdom. 

Not only, then, have we here a scene of national 
redemption and of judgment on a haughty human foe of 
God, but a bright foreshadowing of the future destinies 
of the universe. These wonderful events are a.series of 
transparencies, through which we behold, in the. distant 


PHARAOH AND HIS HOST. 


109 


future, the final redemption of the church of God from 
bondage to the author of all evil, and her eternal recep- 
tion to the kingdom of God. 

Indeed, the very song by which Moses commemorated 
this redemption, is employed, under the guidance of inspi- 
ration, to commemorate the future triumphs of the church 
over all her foes, and the complete victory of the king- 
dom of God. 

When the seer of Patmos beheld the sea of glass, min- 
gled with fire, upon it stood the victors over the beast, 
— that most terrific organization of Satan, — having the 
harps of God. “And they sing the song of Moses, the 
servant of God, and the song of the Lamb.” 

The form of the conflict, indeed, changes ; but the 
main combatants are the same from age to age. Each 
victory in the series prefigures and foretokens all that are 
to come. The hallelujahs that celebrate the final victory 
shall be sung in the very words of this earliest triumphal 
song. The final result, too, of all the victories of God 
shall be the same. 

As the anthem rises loud from unnumbered harps and 
voices, “ Great and marvellous are thy works, Lord God 
Almighty; just and true are thy ways, thou king of 
saints,” the holy universe shall respond, “ Who shall not 
fear thee, G Lord, and glorify thy name ? for thou only 
art holy : for all nations shall come and worship before 
thee ; for thy judgments are made manifest.” 

Had no effort been made to dishonor God, such displays 
of terror and wrath would have been needless. But so 
long as such efforts are continued, so long as a single 


10 


110 


SACKED TABLEAUX. 


revolter from the kingdom of the Holy One remains 
unsubdued, the development of the terrors of God will 
not cease. But when he hath put down all opposing 
power, and rule, and authority, then cometh the end, and 
God shall once more be all in all. 

How sublime then, how full of instruction, are these 
ancient events ! In themselves majestic and impressive, 
they shine in new splendor, when seen in their relations 
to those final results which they foreshadow and predict. 

Let it be our chief desire to escape from those hosts 
that are destined to ruin, and to be numbered with the 
hosts of the redeemed in the final victory of God ; and 
let each, without ceasing, offer the prayer, “ Gather not 
my soul with the wicked ; but remember me, 0 Lord, with 
the favor that thou bearest unto thy people. 0 visit me 
with thy salvation, that I may see the good of thy 
chosen, that I may rejoice in the gladness of thy na- 
tion, that I may glory with thine inheritance.” 

Then, whilst all the enemies of God perish by an over- 
throw still more terrific than that of Pharaoh and his 
hosts, “ the righteous shall shine forth as the sun, in the 
kingdom of their father.” 


MOSES SMITING THE ROCK POR WATER AT HOREB. 


BY REV. J. B. WATERBURY, D.D. 

Mysterious Rod ! What power accompanied it, when 
lifted up in the name of J ehovah ! The leader of Israel 
had used it as a staff, or shepherd’s crook, when guiding 
his flocks amid the solitudes of Midian. But, by a mira- 
cle, converting it into a serpent, and reconverting it into 
a rod, God made it the mystic symbol of his authority. 
It was, thenceforward, constituted a moral sceptre, to be 
waved over his people for their good, and over his enemies 
for their destruction. 

With this rod in his hand, Moses stood before the 
throne of the Pharaohs ; and, in the name of the Great 
“ I Am,” inflicted those judgments which fell with such 
weight upon the oppressor, in behalf of the oppressed. 
He stretches it out, and the long, deep cry of anguish is 
heard throughout the land. Egypt bows herself in the 
dust, and acknowledges the presence and majesty of 
Jehovah. Beholding the waters of their beautiful river 
converted into blood, prince and people beseech God’s 
servant to intercede in their behalf. Again Moses waves 
the rod, and the Nile flows in pellucid beauty ; and the 
eager population rush to its brink, to slake their agonizing 
thirst. Judgment follows judgment, at the elevation of 


112 


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this consecrated staff. The elements appear to move at 
its bidding. Lightnings play ; and thunder-peals break ; 
and hail-storms descend, and sweep, like ministers of 
wrath, over the luxuriant fields and among the proud 
architecture of Egypt. The affrighted monarch declares 
his conviction, and entreats for a respite. In an instant, 
as the rod waves, all is calm ; and the bow of mercy 
smiles on the retiring cloud. 

But the most memorable occasion on which this rod 
was employed, as the symbol of divine justice, occurred 
at the borders of the Red Sea. 

The affrighted Israelites halted before the menacing 
flood. Behind them thundered the chariots and war- 
horses of Pharaoh. It was a moment of sublime peril. 
Then stood forth the leader of God’s host, and said, 
“ Fear not ; stand still, and see the salvation of God.” 
Obedient to Heaven’s command, he stretches out the rod. 
The sea rolls back, and becomes a wall of adamant ; and 
the people march through the channel miraculously 
opened by the hand of God. Miracle follows miracle. 
They stand on the opposite shore, and look down on the 
harnessed legions of Pharaoh, struggling along the same 
rocky ford. Again Moses lifts the fearful rod; “ and 
the waters return, and cover the chariots and the horse- 
men, and all the host of Pharaoh. There remains not so 
much as one of them.” 

But this rod of Moses was used for purposes of mercy, 
no less than as a symbol of justice. It not only smote 
the enemies of Israel, but, on the occasion which we are 
more especially to consider, it brought water out of the 


MOSES SMITING THE ROCK. 


113 


bosom of the rock, and saved them from a most horrible 
fate. 

It was one of those critical junctures, when suffering 
nature clamors for relief or death. “ Would to God,” 
exclaimed the people, 66 we had died when our brethren 
died before the Lord ! ” Of all the trials which they had 
experienced, this seemed the worst. They had dwelt in 
a land where not only the fig, the grape, and the pome- 
granate grew, — whose luscious pulp still haunted their 
memory,— but where rolled the Nile, whose waters were 
so abundant and exhilarating. And how was it with 
them now? The desert stretches its shoreless waste 
before them ; the burning sand is under their feet ; and 
the lurid sky, like a brazen furnace, over their heads. 
Not a palm-branch is discernible in the distance, as the 
indication of hope. The leathern bottles have given out 
their last drop ; and the very skins have been champed, 
to yield the semblance of moisture. The blood is on fire, 
by the action of its own unmitigated impulse. A fever 
is on the brain ; the eye glares wildly from its socket ; 
and the tongue, parched and swollen, protrudes from the 
lips. The cry of death, a death the most awful, is heard 
throughout the camp. A necessity so dire seems to 
extenuate, if not justify, their complainings. What is 
to be done ? There is evidently but one Being who can 
bring relief. To Him the leaders of Israel appeal. 
“ They fell upon their faces, and the glory of the Lord 
appeared unto them. And the Lord spake unto Moses, say- 
ing : Take the rod, and gather thou the assembly together ; 
thou, and Aaron thy brother, and speak ye unto the rock 


10* 


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before their eyes ; and it shall give forth his water, and 
thou shalfc bring forth to them water out of the rock : so 
thou shalt give the congregation and their beasts drink. 
And Moses took the rod from before the Lord, as he 
commanded him. And Moses and Aaron gathered the 
congregation together before the rock ; and he said unto 
them, Hear now, ye rebels ; must w T e fetch you water out 
of this rock ? And Moses lift up his hand, and with 
his rod he smote the rock twice ; and the water came 
out abundantly ; and the congregation drank, and their 
beasts also.” 

Here is a sublime manifestation of the power of God. 
As a moral picture it has few equals. The fainting mul- 
titudes gather themselves together, beneath the brow of 
Horeb. Their pantings may almost be heard, as they 
gaze in silent expectation on him who acts as their medi- 
ator. High up, amid the splintered pinnacles of the 
rock, he stands ; and calls aloud, in stern rebuke, saying, 
“ Hear now, ye rebels ; must we fetch you water out of 
this rock ? ” Ah ! man of God, thy words are ill chosen. 
Thy spirit, so habitually meek, is now chafed with unhal- 
lowed excitement. Thy calm eye is too fiercely indig- 
nant. Thy faith is overborne by the waves of passion. 
Thou hast forgotten that high regard for the honor of 
God which heretofore marked thy rebukes. Here is too 
much of Moses, and too little of Jehovah. Fatal words ! 
uttered in a moment of anger. They have clouded 
over the face of God, and shut against thee the gates of 
an earthly paradise. So holy is God — so just! 

But the people may not die because Moses has sinned. 


MOSES SMITING THE ROCK. 


115 


So Jehovah holds not back his power. The rod smites 
the rock twice ; and with a crash, as if an earthquake 
rent its bosom, it opens on their astonished eyes ; and lo ! 
there gushes forth a stream of pure water, as if it de- 
scended from the very fountains of heaven. On it 
comes, rushing along the jagged rocks, and making music 
in the ears of dying thousands. What shouts of exulta- 
tion ! What frenzied joy ! They bathe in it their burn- 
ing brows ; they kiss it with their parched lips ; they 
drink in new life with every draught. Tears of gratitude 
mingle with their congratulations ; and, for a season at 
least, there is no god but the God of Israel. Stupendous 
miracle ! Well may the sweet singer of ancient days — 
celebrating the event in one of his exulting lyrics — ex- 
claim, “ He clave the rocks in the wilderness, and gave 
them drink as out of the great depths.” “ Tremble, 
thou earth, at the presence of the Lord, at the presence 
of the God of Jacob ; which turned the rock into a stand- 
ing water, the flint into a fountain of waters.” Nor was 
this a mere temporary supply. The stream was perpet- 
uated by the same power that produced it. “ It fol- 
lowed them through the desert. It meandered along 
their devious path, until they came in sight of the land of 
promise.” 

How many interesting thoughts cluster around this 
event. How much instruction may be gleaned from it. 

Our dependence on God for common mercies may here 
be seen. True, we are not marching, with the slow pace 
of a caravan, across a burning desert. But the same 
God who made the Israelites feel their dependence, can 


116 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


make us feel ours. Let the clouds come not over the 
heavens. Let the sun look down upon us for months 
from his burning pavilion, until earth’s fountains are 
exhausted, her rivers dried up, and every blade of ver- 
dure is extinguished. Such a scene has been realized ; 
may it not he again ? In that case, no Moses would be 
commissioned to smite for us the bosom of some Horeb. 
We should die a lingering, but dreadful death. Grate- 
ful, then, ought we to be for “ the early and the latter 
rain ; ” for “ the upper and nether springs ; ” for the 
clouds as well as for the sunshine ; for water to drink as 
well as for bread to eat. 

The incident teaches us to guard well our language, in 
seasons of extraordinary excitement. Moses, on this 
occasion, “ spake unadvisedly with his lips.” The meek- 
est among saints is here transported with passion. The 
fire is not taken from God’s altar, but from his own. 
The imperfections of the man are more prominent than 
the holiness of the minister. Those hasty words were 
remembered ever after. When this patriarch ascended 
the heights of Pisgah, and looked over the vine-clad hills 
and valleys of Canaan, on which his feet were not per- 
mitted to tread, he felt how much better it is to be “ slow 
to wrath, slow to speak.” The example should not be 
lost upon us. Even when we speak to the guilty, and in 
God’s name, our language should be affectionate, but 
faithful ; marked by pity more than by anger. “ Be ye 
angry, and sin not.” 

We see here how jealous God is of his own honor. It 
was divine power alone that could bring water out of the 


MOSES SMITING THE ROCK. 


117 


rock. As the power belonged to God, so to him should 
have been ascribed the glory. Why, then, did Moses 
say, shall we bring water out of this rock ? We, and us, 
and ours, are words irrelevant, when miracles, physi- 
cal or moral, are to be wrought. God is then to be 
all in all. We are to stand back, to hide ourselves in the 
dust, when Jehovah comes to cleave the rock ; or, what 
is still more wonderful, to melt and break the adamantine 
heart. 

We learn, also, that man’s extremity is God’s oppor- 
tunity. When the oases of the desert were all passed, 
when the water in their bottles had failed, and a death 
the most horrible stared them in the face, then was all 
human help vain. But, at this very juncture, God 
appears for their help. “ Trust in him, then, ye saints, 
at all times. Ye people, pour out your heart before him. 
God is a refuge for us.” “ Although the fig-tree shall 
not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines ; the labor 
of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat ; 
the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be 
no herd in the stalls : yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I 
will joy in the God of my salvation.” 

Here, too, is a beautiful symbol of that water of life 
which is so freely tendered to the fainting, dying soul. 
I will give to him that is athirst, of the water of life 
freely. “ Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the 
waters.” There is no stream of earth that can slake the 
deep thirst within. There is no such stream that does 
not speedily run dry. The cisterns which we build for 
ourselves are soon broken. But “ there is a stream that 


118 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


makes glad the city of God,” pure as the source from 
which it springs ; soul-satisfying, and that never fails. 
“ Whosoever drinketh of this water shall never thirst.” 

In this remarkable event, we also see imaged forth 
the virtues and stabilities of that Redeemer who is our 
Rock and our Refuge. Says the apostle Paul, speaking 
of the Israelites, and alluding to this very scene, u They 
drank of that spiritual Rock that followed them, and that 
Rock was Christ.” In him is the stability of the rock, 
and the refreshment of the cooling stream. 66 Other 
foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is 
Jesus Christ.” The hope that endures, must rest on 
him. Every other foundation is but sand. Other sources 
of good are but subordinate. He is “ the fountain of liv- 
ing waters.” As the rock smitten by Moses gave life to 
the dying Israelites, so, smitten on the cross, and by the 
blood of that cross, does our Lord give life to the dead 
in sin. 

“ Rock of ages ! cleft for me, 

Let me hide my soul in thee. 

Let the water and the blood, 

From thy wounded side that flowed, 

Be of sin the perfect cure : 

Save me, Lord, and make me pure.” 





























































































































Phitf . 1 0. 9 




MOSES DESCENDING FROM THE MOUNT, AND FINDING THE 
ISRAELITES WORSHIPPING THE MOLTEN CALF. 

BY REV. S. AIKEN. 


Entering from the northwest the cluster of moun- 
tains bearing the general name of Sinai, after threading 
the difficult pass of Nukb Hawy, you enter the valley Er 
Rahah, shut in on either side by lofty ridges of granite, 
shooting up their splintered peaks to the height of eight 
hundred or a thousand feet. A more wild and desolate 
region cannot be found. Here and there, in rocky crev- 
ices and the bottom of ravines, are a few shrubs, affording 
scanty browsing to the goats and donkeys of some neigh- 
boring convent. All beside is naked desolation. The 
valley at length widens into a plain, nearly two miles in 
length and one in breadth, enclosed by rugged, frowning 
ridges, with pointed summits, imparting indescribable 
gloom and grandeur to the place. The plain on the 
south is terminated by a mountain rising almost perpen- 
dicularly twelve or fifteen hundred feet. So abrupt is 
the ascent from the plain, that you may literally approach 
and touch the mount. It presents a front singularly 
awful and majestic. You cannot be mistaken. This is 
none other than the Sinai of the Bible. To this won- 
derful retreat, Moses led the tribes of Israel, as they 


120 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


came out of Egypt. On this plain, the Israelites en- 
camped ; and from that summit, amid thunders and 
lightnings, and the voice of the trumpet, God proclaimed 
his law. 

The open area before the mount, embracing at least 
two square miles, is sufficiently spacious for the assembled 
people, and from any part of it the eye -could behold 
“ the glory of the Lord, like devouring fire, on the top of 
the mount.” You read over the scriptural narrative, 
and find every one of its requisites is here met. It was 
here that “ Moses spake, and God answered him with a 
voice.” You feel assured that the Almighty Creator of 
the world, in moulding these ridges, and rearing these 
rugged peaks, and smoothing this plain in the heart of 
the mountains, formed this majestic amphitheatre in 
anticipation of the use to which he would afterwards 
devote it. There is not another place on earth so suited 
to be an audience-chamber of the Almighty. 

After the promulgation of the Decalogue, Moses was 
called up into the burning mount, to receive instructions 
concerning the tabernacle and its service : the form of 
the ark ; the mercy-seat ; the table and the candlestick ; 
the altar of burnt-offering, and the vessels thereof ; the 
priesthood ; the ephod ; the Urim and Thummim ; the 
anointing oil ; and the sacred perfume. During forty 
days and forty nights, did Moses commune with God in 
the top of the mount ; and received at the Lord’s hand 
“.two tables of testimony, written with the finger of God.” 

At this point in the history, occurred the scene illus- 
trated at the head of this chapter. “ Go,” said the Lord 


THE MOLTEN CALF. 


121 


to Moses, “ get thee down ; for thy people, which thou 
broughtest out of the land of Egypt, have corrupted 
themselves.” — “ And Moses turned and went down from 
the mount ; and the two tables of testimony were in his 
hand. And it came to pass, as soon as he came nigh 
unto the camp, that he saw the calf and the dancing : 
and Moses’s anger waxed hot ; and he cast the tables out 
of his hand, and brake them beneath the mount.” 

Our main concern, however, is with the moral features 
of the scene. The meekest of men, after intimate and 
protracted intercourse with God, became angry, and pro- 
faned a treasure which should have been dearer to him 
than life. Can the conduct of Moses be accounted for ? 

His long abode in the mount, surrounded by the ineffa- 
ble glory of God, must have greatly strengthened his 
sensibility to sin, and prepared him to look upon any dis- 
honor or insult offered to the Most High, as horrid impi- 
ety. Never do we feel the enormity of sin, as when our 
minds are pervaded by a sense of God’s excellence. 
Communion with God had so refined and elevated the 
spiritual apprehensions of Moses, as to produce a myste- 
rious change upon his person. The holy transports of 
his soul, had imparted an unearthly splendor to his coun- 
tenance. Never before was his sense of the divine 
excellence so deep and awful, and therefore, never before 
was he in a state to look upon idolatry with such utter 
detestation. The mere sight of a molten calf, repre- 
senting that Being whose glory he had for forty days 
been contemplating in the mount, and the thought that 
Israel were paying to that image the homage which was 


11 


122 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


due to the Lord alone, filled his soul with indignation. It 
was the purity of his feelings, the healthy tone of his 
moral sense, that made his anger wax hot. He was in 
sympathy with him who cannot look upon iniquity. 

There was one consideration peculiarly afflictive to 
Moses. The people engaged in this abominable worship 
had been the subjects of the Lord’s special kindness. 
Only a few weeks before, they were groaning under 
Egyptian task-masters, and the Lord had delivered them. 
They had seen his wonders in Egypt and at the Red Sea, 
whose parted waters had been a wall to their way, and 
had overwhelmed Pharaoh and his hosts in their pursuit. 
They had joined with him, on the seashore, in the song, 
“ Who is like unto thee, 0 Lord, glorious in holiness, 
fearful in praises.” They had drunken of the waters of 
Marah, miraculously made sweet. To satisfy their hun- 
ger, the Lord rained flesh upon them as dust, and feath- 
ered fowl like the sand of the sea ; and throughout the 
wilderness of Zin, he had caused them to eat angels’ 
food. They had seen streams flowing from the smit- 
ten rock, and the hosts of Amalek discomfited at 
the lifting up of a rod. Following a pillar of cloud 
by day, and of fire by night, they had come to this 
mount. And what had they witnessed here ? They had 
seen the brow of Sinai clothed with terror ; the presence 
of God announced by the convulsion of the elements ; 
the mountain trembling to its deep foundations, and 
sending up volumes of flame and smoke : lightnings, with 
their vivid glare, issuing from the mount ; mighty thun- 
derings rending the heavens ; and, more terrible than all, 


THE MOLTEN CALF. 


123 


the voice of the celestial trumpet, sounding long, and 
waxing louder and louder. And from the thick cloud, 
where God dwelt, they had heard the command, “ Thou 
shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any like- 
ness of any thing.” And, trembling at the voice, they 
had sacredly promised, “ Whatsoever the Lord hath 
spoken, that will we do.” And yet, almost before the 
earth had ceased to quake, or the reverberations of that 
terrible voice had died away among the mountains ; and 
while the cloud, the symbol of the Divine Presence, was 
yet resting on the top of Sinai, and in the face of their 
voluntary pledges, lo, they have changed their glory into 
the similitude of an ox that eateth grass ! 

There was another feature of the scene, which, if pos- 
sible, was yet more painful. Moses had left one man 
in the camp who had been associated with himself in 
pleading the cause of his people in the presence of Pha- 
raoh, and in all the labors and trials of bringing them out 
of Egypt — his elder brother, and more eloquent than 
himself — of great influence with the people ; and, by 
divine appointment, soon to be honored with a priesthood, 
which he and his posterity were to fill through all coming 
generations. Without fear or misgiving, he had left the 
people to the care of Aaron, the saint of the Lord ; not 
doubting but he would repress every wayward impulse, and 
firmly maintain the rights of Jehovah, come what might. 
How, then, could this scene of abomination occur before 
the face, and with the consent of Aaron ? Has the man, 
destined soon to minister at the altar of Israel’s God, 
betrayed his trust ? Has he failed to exert his authority 


124 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


in restraining the people from such infatuation ? Alas ! 
the hands of Aaron have made that molten calf. It is 
Aaron who has built that altar before the idol, upon which 
the people are presenting their burnt-offerings and peace- 
offerings. It is Aaron who has proclaimed this feast, at 
which the people sit down to eat and drink, and rise up 
to play. 

No wonder that the heart of Moses sinks within him. 
It is wickedness without excuse ; a tempting of God to 
his face. Jealousy for the divine honor, and indignation 
at such ingratitude, are like fire pent up in the bones. 
He vents his feelings in deeds rather than words ; and to 
give a testimony which all Israel must understand, and 
which would fitly represent the covenant of God as wan- 
tonly profaned by them, he casts the two tables from his 
hands, and breaks them beneath the mount. 


THE ARK OF THE COVENANT, THE ALTAR OF INCENSE, THE 
BRAZEN LAVER. 


BY REV. A. W. M’CLURE. 


The tabernacle and its furniture possess an intrinsic 
interest, as affording full proof that God has dwelt with 
men. His presence is heaven ; and wherever he abides 
on earth, there is a heaven below. 


“ Such delight hath God in men 
Obedient to his will, that he vouchsafes 
Among them to set up his tabernacle, 

The Holy One with mortal men to dwell : 

By his prescript a sanctuary is framed 
Of cedar, overlaid with gold, therein 
An ark, and in the ark his testimony, 

The records of his covenant ; over these 
A mercy-seat of gold, between the wings 
Of two bright cherubim.” 

Milton. 

In this emblematic pavilion was the habitation of the 
God of Israel. In the holy of holies, in the innermost 
recess, within a veil thick with rich embroidery, where 
none but uncreated light must shine, was his peculiar 
dwelling-place. There, enthroned between the “ cover- 
ing cherubs/’ upon the reconciliation-seat, which formed 
the lid of the record-chest, wherein reposed the covenant 


n* 


126 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


which his own finger had traced, there sat the awful 
token of his presence, the luminous cloud, the excellent 
glory. Here, his people had access to him through an 
appointed mediator. Such was the divine promise to 
Moses : “ There I will meet with thee, and I will com- 
mune with thee from above the mercy-seat, from between 
the two cherubims which are upon the ark of the testi- 
mony, of all things which I will give thee in command- 
ment unto the children of Israel.” In the hour of dark 
distress, how natural to the pious Israelite must have 
been the ejaculated wish, u Thou that dwellest between 
the cherubims, shine forth ! ” The last survivor of the 
apostles, in that wondrous vision which cheered his old 
age, heard the final triumph of the gospel announced by 
“ a great voice out of heaven, saying, Behold, the taber- 
nacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, 
and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be 
with them, and be their God.” 

But beside the significance of the tabernacle, as being 
an evidence of the grand and consoling truth that a 
reconciling God has deigned to take up his abode among 
sinful men, this curtained structure has a yet deeper 
•meaning. It was a shadow of good things to come. It 
was a faint adumbration of the glories of the heavenly 
temple. Every thing pertaining to it portended some 
high and spiritual reality belonging to celestial worship 
and blessedness. Hence the charge so strictly laid upon 
Moses : “ See that thou make all things according to the 
pattern shewed to thee in the mount.” In following the 
directions so minutely given, the great prophet of Israel 


THE TABERNACLE. 


127 


was engaged in no puerile or unmeaning task. In fash- 
ioning those “ dim similitudes,’’ he was copying the 
sublimest truths, which were more distinctly revealed 
when, by the brighter light of the gospel, they cast a 
stronger shadow ; but whose open manifestation is re- 
served for heavenly vision. It was w~ell remarked by 
Eucherius, bishop of Lyons, in the fifth century : “ God 
made himself three tabernacles : the temple, which had 
but shadows without truth ; the church, which has both 
shadows and truth ; and heaven, where are no shadows, 
but all truth.” 

What the bright cloud between the cherubim was in 
the tent of God reared in the wilderness, such is Jesus in 
the celestial temple. He is the medium of communica- 
tion between us and the Father, in “ the true tabernacle 
which the Lord pitched, and not man.” That radiant 
cloud was like the humanity of our Lord, through which 
the Godhead so clearly shone. To the pious mind, there 
is nothing so sweet and cheering as the view of the divine 
united with the human in Christ. His humanity was 
perfection in its kind, heightened to an infinitely loftier 
perfection. It was like the fragile glass so ground and 
transfigured as to soften the too dazzling and insufferable 
light. It was the graceful vesture revealing the outline 
of the august Being it concealed. It was the morning 
cloud, whose blushing hues proclaim the brightness of the 
orb over which it is thrown. The cloud, exhaled from 
earth, and yet having something ethereal in its nature ; 
the cloud, so sad and fleeting, so easily dispersed, or so 
quickly condensed into a few disappearing drops ; the 


128 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


cloud, so translucent, so fleecy pure, so kindled into 
floating gold by the escaping rays of the sun which is 
veiled therein ; the cloud is a fit emblem of that human- 
ity, frail, spotless, and effulgent, in which “ dwelt all the 
fulness of the Godhead bodily.” Here is God, not so 
much hidden, as “ manifest in the flesh.” The Infinite 
is here ! Here, not in that “ consuming fire ” which 
the guilty dread, and wherein they would perish in their 
agony; but he is “in Christ, reconciling the world unto 
himself.” He is here, born of a woman, made in the 
likeness of sinful flesh, humanized, embodied, brought 
into distinct view, and approachable nearness, and per- 
sonal sympathy. This, according to the import of his 
name, Immanuel, is God-with-us. It is a sweet and 
soothing mystery, alluring our confidence by all that is 
human in our Saviour, and assuring it by all that is 
divine. 

That beaming cloud between the cherubim, and hover- 
ing over the mercy-seat, was the medium of intercourse 
between earth and heaven. Even so our exalted Re- 
deemer, seated on his throne of grace, u ever liveth to 
make intercession for us,” and is ever ready to hear the 
prayers of his people, and ever prompt to answer them ; 
dispensing pardon to the penitent, and bestowing on the 
suppliant all the royal gifts of the King of kings. 

A similar import is borne by the altar of incense ; for 
which our engraving erroneously presents the altar of 
burnt-offerings. The priest used to set his fuming censer 
on the altar of incense, while attending at morning and 
evening the lamp which must never be extinguished. As 


THE TABERNACLE. 


129 


the daily sacrifices, on the brazen altar in the outer court 
of the tabernacle, betokened the perpetual efficacy of the 
death of the Lamb of God on earth, so the incense, 
burning at morn and eve on this golden altar within the 
sanctuary, betokened his unceasing intercession on our 
behalf in heaven. The prayer of the believer is an 
offering most acceptable to God, when presented through 
that “ great High Priest of our profession,’’ who is also 
called “ the Angel of the Covenant.” In the vision of 
the seer at Patmos, this angel-priest “ came and stood 
at the altar, having a golden censer ; and there was 
given unto him much incense, that he should offer it, with 
the prayers of all saints, upon the golden altar which was 
before the throne ; and the smoke of the incense, which 
came with the prayers of the saints, ascended up before 
God out of the angel’s hand.” Happy is he who com- 
mits his petitions into the hands of this all-prevailing 
Master of Requests in the Court of Heaven. The cause 
of that suppliant shall be well sped, for whom Jesus will 
procure whatsoever is asked through faith in his name. 

Much might be said of the brazen laver ; and of the 
idea of moral purgation, the cleansing of the polluted 
soul by spiritual purification, which it instinctively pre- 
sents. It would illustrate, by delightful analogies, the 
laver of baptism, and the washing of regeneration ; the 
sign and the thing signified, granted by him who gave 
himself for the church he loved ; “ that he might sanctify 
and cleanse it with the washing of water, by the word ; 
that he might present it to himself a glorious church, not 
having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing ; but that it 


130 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


should be holy and -without blemish.’ ’ But of “ the layer 
and his foot,” with the other articles ordained for the ser- 
vice of the tabernacle, “ we cannot now speak particu- 
larly.” 

May we pursue the hints which have been given, and 
follow the shadows till we reach the substance. Then, 
when “ our earthly house of this tabernacle shall be dis- 
solved, we shall have a building of God, an house not 
made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” 























































a m 4 t 

















\V. Ii.Onnshv. New York. 









THE BRAZEN SERPENT. 


BY REV. E. NEVILLE, D.D. 


It might have been expected from many proofs of the 
divine displeasure with their waywardness and rebellion, 
that the people of Israel would not again venture to draw 
down upon themselves the wrath of God ; and that, after 
his astonishing interpositions in their behalf, they would 
rely with unbounded confidence, upon his protection. 
But every new trial brought fresh murmurings. The 
quality of their food, the administration of their laws, the 
length of their journey, the hardships of their road, were 
each in turn the subject of complaint. God sent them 
bread from heaven, and water from the rock. He even 
shielded them from the noonday sun with a canopy of 
cloud, and guided them at night with a pillar of fire. 
But all was in vain ; they were still dissatisfied. Punish- 
ment was resorted to, with no better success. On one 
occasion, the earth was made to open her mouth, and swal- 
low up the rebels ; in another instance, many of them 
were put to the sword. At one time, fire was sent from 
heaven to consume them ; and thousands were repeat- 
edly destroyed by pestilence. The survivors, however, 
were not subdued by these severities. Like Pharaoh, 
indeed, so long as they were in distress, they cried for 


182 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


mercy, and promised amendment ; but no sooner was the 
judgment removed, than, like him, they relapsed into 
sullen obduracy. God, therefore, who breaks where he 
cannot bend, and extorts from the heart what it will not 
yield, adopted with his people more rigorous measures. 

Then was enacted the scene here described, memora- 
ble for its singular character, memorable for the aston- 
ishing events of which it was figurative. The people of 
Israel, at this time, were very numerous; and being 
encamped in a hollow square, having the tents of three 
of the tribes on each side of it, a great multitude were 
crowded within a comparatively narrow compass. They 
were in the desert, — a vast expanse of shifting sand, 
infested with fiery and flying serpents. It was the 
month of August, — the season when the fierce heat of 
Arabia would greatly aggravate the pain and danger 
arising from their wounds. Hitherto under divine pro- 
tection, these reptiles had given them no annoyance, but 
now the whole camp of Israel was thronged with ser- 
pents. They covered the ground — they filled the air 
— they even penetrated into the tents of the people. 

Nothing in fiction or history, — not even the awful 
night when “ the Lord smote all the first-born in the 
land of Egypt,” — approaches the horrors of this spec- 
tacle. There was no way of escape from the bite of these 
serpents, nor any cure for those who were bitten. The 
people were mad with despair. They tried all kinds of 
expedients, without success. Then the vast multitude 
beat their breasts — tore their hair — raved, wept, and 
howled with the agony of their poisoned wounds. Death, 


THE BRAZEN SERPENT. 


183 


in the mean while, was doing his work, and the earth was 
strewed with the dead and dying. At length, the hum- 
bled and distracted people cried for mercy. Unable to 
protect others, or to escape themselves, they besought 
Moses to intercede in their behalf. Then was, indeed, 
an affecting spectacle. The whole camp were on their 
knees, — priests, elders, and people. Men, women, and 
children, with one consent, lifted up their faces and their 
hands to heaven, confessing their sins, and imploring 
deliverance. Tl^eir prayer was answered, although not in 
the way which they proposed. In place of removing the 
serpents, God provided an antidote to their poison. He 
“ said unto Moses, Make thee a fiery serpent, and set it 
upon a pole ; and it shall come to pass, that every one 
that is bitten, when he looketh upon it, shall live.” But 
it was some time before this order could be executed ; 
and to men in their situation, suspense was horrible ; and 
when at length the brazen serpent was seen, the vast 
multitude rushed in tumultuous confusion forward. Hus- 
bands, bearing in their arms their wives and children, 
directed their eyes to the sacred symbol. Young men, 
supporting their aged parents, implored them, before it 
should be too late, to look upwards. The effect was 
miraculous ! The sick and dying no sooner caught a 
glimpse of the fiery emblem, than they were restored to 
health ; but the dead bodies, many in number, of their 
friends and relatives, which covered the ground, was an 
awful memorial of what had happened. 

But this event which, at the time, and indeed for fif- 
teen hundred years afterwards, seemed to belong exclu- 


IV 


134 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


sively to Jewish history, has since proved of important 
significance to all mankind. It is, in fact, the allegory 
of the Cross ; represented not in words only but by a 
vivid and actually existing scene, many centuries before 
the main transaction in the analogy was realized. This 
is the greatest miracle in Scripture — that the events 
of one age should symbolize those of another ; should be 
so constructed as to adumbrate, with surprising exacti- 
tude, what was yet in the womb of distant futurity. It 
is easy, by a succession of fictitious personages and imag- 
inary scenes, to illustrate real characters and actual 
events. This is within the power of human genius. But 
to represent, by facts, a transaction fifteen hundred years 
before it took place, can only be the work of Almighty 
God. And this miracle God has wrought. In every 
nursery, the Brazen Serpent and the Cross are inter- 
changeable terms. Every stripling knows, that “ as Moses 
lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so was the Son of 
Man lifted up.” The scene is so palpably figurative of 
gospel truth, in all its particulars, that the mere child 
can comprehend its sacred meaning. It is not so with 
human allegories. That of Bunyan, with all its popu- 
larity and attractiveness, is but little understood. Not 
one in ten of its readers can penetrate the spiritual sig- 
nification of the Narrow Path, and the Wicket Gate, and 
the Slough of Despond, and the Yalley of Humiliation. 
They are enchanted with the pilgrim’s narrative, just as 
with that of any other traveller. We have ourselves 
heard of a child who, after reading the Pilgrim’s Pro- 
gress, left its home, expecting to meet with the like 


THE BRAZEN SERPENT. 


135 


adventures. But in the history of the Brazen Serpent, 
the analogies cannot be mistaken ; the correspondence 
between the outward sign and the thing signified, cannot 
be overlooked. We are all travelling through a wilder- 
ness. We are all sinners, and we are all suffering the 
punishment of sin. In these respects, the resemblance 
of our condition to that of Israel, is very striking ; but 
the analogy extends beyond this : The serpent is to us, 
as it was to them, the cause of suffering. By the ser- 
pent we mean sin, of which that creature, ever since 
the assumption of its form by Satan, has been the 
emblem. Wherever worshipped, it has been as the evil 
principle. The fascination of its eye, the poison of its 
tooth, its forked tongue, its spotted skin, and its stealthy 
crawl, are lively figures of the alluring, deadly, mali- 
cious, artful, and insidious character of sin. Sin, like 
the serpent, is our mortal enemy. Through Adam, its 
poison has been transmitted into our veins, and thus our 
world, like the Israelitish camp, has been made the scene 
of misery and death. “ Indignation and wrath, tribula- 
tion and anguish,” are the portion of sinners. Tortured 
by innumerable evils here, they are tormented, at the 
same time, by a fearful looking for of judgment here- 
after. Whilst their bosoms are swelling with temporal 
griefs, and their hearts breaking with earthly sorrows, 
their consciences are smitten by a sense of guilt, and 
their souls quaking with the fear of punishment. 

Such, so far as the disease is concerned, is the analogy 
in question. And the resemblance, as regards the cure, 
is still more remarkable. The elevation of Christ on the 


136 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


cross, and of the serpent on the pole, we have already 
mentioned. But this is not all. Christ, although he 
took upon himself the likeness of sinful flesh, had no 
sin ; precisely as the brazen image, although a serpent in 
form, was no serpent in reality. Christ, although the 
representative of sinners, “ did no violence, neither was 
deceit found in his mouth ; ” just as the effigy had the 
shape of the serpent without its sting. The emblem of 
the only creature cursed of God, was the figure of him 
who was made a curse for us. And the only and the 
divinely appointed cure for the wounds of Israel, is the 
faithful image of Christ, the Messiah, the physician of 
souls — “the only name under heaven, given among 
men, whereby we must be saved.” And further, we 
cannot see the people of Israel pressing forwards to 
catch a glimpse of the brazen serpent, without remem- 
bering the attraction of the cross, and those words of 
Jesus, “ I, if I be lifted up, will draw all men unto me.” 
Without reflecting that, in all ages, convinced, and self- 
condemned, and heavy-laden sinners have felt the con- 
straining power of him who was lifted up in this wilder- 
ness-world for their salvation — have looked with the 
eagerness of faith and hope at his bleeding and mangled 
body — have looked with implicit confidence in his power 
to save, and, looking, have lived for ever. Nothing 
remains, then, but that whilst admiring, we believe and 
become experimentally convinced, that “ as Moses lifted 
up the serpent in the wilderness, even so was the Son of 
Man lifted up, that whosoever believeth in him should 
not perish, but have eternal life.” 


BALAAM SMITING THE ASS, WHO SPEAKETH BEFORE THE 
ANGEL. 


BY REV. JAMES FLINT, D.D. 

In their triumphant progress towards the promised 
land, the hosts of Israel came upon the confines of the 
territory of Balak, king of Moab. Alarmed by the ter- 
rible report of them that preceded their march, and 
trembling with a presentiment that the same fate which 
had befallen other hostile people in their way, was re- 
served for him and his people, Balak, with the belief 
common in that age and country, that the benedictions 
and imprecations of magicians and soothsayers had a 
supernatural power over the destinies of the subjects of 
them, sends for Balaam, a diviner, or soothsayer, of ce- 
lebrity, in a neighboring province ; to effect, by his 
imprecations, what he could not himself hope to do by the 
power of his arms. 

Not much is said of this man of questionable character 
in the Scripture ; and, of the countless conjectures and 
hypotheses of commentators and the Targums, as to what 
he was, and how far he was a teal prophet, or inspired, it 
would be useless to speak here. His lineage is given in 
the sacred record, as was the Oriental custom in refer- 
ence to persons of note and importance. His residence 


12 * 


138 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


was in the mountainous country, to the eastward of Moab. 
He appears to have sustained an unrivalled reputation as 
a soothsayer, or professed prophet. 

Afraid, or incompetent, to cope with the Israelites in 
the battle-field, and confiding in the power of this famous 
magician, to compass his hostile wishes upon this strange 
and formidable people, in an easier way than by fighting 
them, he commissions a company of distinguished chiefs 
of his kingdom to bear his message and the rewards of 
divination to Balaam ; inviting him to come and curse for 
him this remarkable people, that were marching from the 
desert, like an immense swarm of locusts, to devour his 
land. 

Balaam receives the messengers in a way that might be 
expected, from the character which he afterwards devel- 
opes ; requesting them to lodge with him till the morning, 
to give him time to consult his oracle, to ascertain the 
purpose of his pretended familiar spirit, respecting this 
people. Jehovah, the God of Israel, to the astonishment 
of the soothsayer, signifies his purpose in a vision, which 
he could not mistake ; by which he was made distinctly 
to understand that he has no permission to curse that 
people ; for that Jehovah, their guardian God, has decreed 
to bless them. 

Such is the reply which he commits to the ambas- 
sadors. With this unsatisfactory reply they return to 
their master. Balak still believing that Balaam might 
be prevailed on to curse Israel, other and more honorable 
princes are sent on a second embassy, with a tender of 
ampler rewards and honors. “ Let nothing, I pray 


BALAAM SMITING THE ASS. 


139 


thee,” they are charged to say, “ hinder thee from com- 
ing ; for I will promote thee to very great honor, and 
whatever thou sayest to me, I will do. Come, therefore, 
I pray thee, curse me this people.” The avarice and 
ambition of Balaam were strongly tempted ; but he 
repeats the querulous, reluctant answer before given, and 
adds, with apparent piety, that “ if the king would give 
him a house full of silver and gold,” he could do nothing 
more nor less than had been declared to him. But, 
although he had been distinctly informed, once, of the 
purpose of J ehovah, he wishes the princes to remain with 
him for the night ; in the hope, as it would seem, that 
during the night he might receive an answer from the 
God of Israel more favorable to his wishes. He is per- 
mitted to accompany the princes ; but is strictly enjoined, 
on arriving at the king’s camp, to declare nothing but 
what is revealed to him. 

In token of Jehovah’s displeasure at his covetous and 
ambitious wish to obtain the king's proffered rewards, a 
fearful vision appears to him in the way, which furnishes 
the subject of the picture. An angel, unseen by Ba- 
laam, stands in the way of the ass on which the sooth- 
sayer rode. The ass turns from the way into the field. 
Balaam is angry with the ass, and smites her, to turn her 
into the way. The ass, still seeing the angel before her, 
turns out of the path, and crushes Balaam’s foot against 
a wall. He again smites the ass ; and she, being in a 
narrow place, where there was no room for turning out, 
falls to the ground. Balaam, greatly enraged, again 
smites the ass with a staff. A voice is then heard, as 


140 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


from the mouth of the ass, which remonstrates with her 
master upon his cruelty, in beating her. He then sees 
the messenger of Jehovah standing before him, with a 
drawn sword ; “ perhaps,” says Herder, “ a flame of 
fire, flashing or flaming up before him.” He is now re- 
proached by the angel ; “ because, with less understand- 
ing than his ass, he had not heeded the less marked pre- 
sentiments of his mind.” He is told by the angel, that, 
had not the ass turned aside, he would have slain him, 
and saved the ass alive. The terrified magician acknowl- 
edges and repents of his sin ; but, after the common 
example in similar cases, he repents without reforming. 
He repents, and offers to go back ; but retains his guilty 
longing for the rewards of divination. He repents ; but 
does not relinquish the hope that he may yet compass the 
object of his covetous desires. In order to show in the 
sequel, “ by the example,” says Herder, “ of this most 
celebrated soothsayer, how vain, and how subject to the 
control of God was this art, which Moses had forbidden,” 
Balaam is permitted to proceed ; but with the strict in- 
junction, to utter only what should be put into his 
mouth. 

Conscience-stricken, and in fear, he goes on, and arrives 
in Moab ; is received with the most marked distinction, 
and is chidden with royal wonder at his blindness, in not 
seeing, at the first, all the advantages that would have 
accrued to him, from immediate compliance with the 
request of the king. Amidst all the superstitious rever- 
ence and consideration with which he is received, and 
conducted to the high places of Baal, the guilty, self- 


BALAAM SMITING TIIE ASS. 


141 


condemned diviner trembles ■with the secret consciousness 
of wishing to please the king, that he might obtain his 
presents and patronage ; and of being, at the same time, 
under the awful charge of Jehovah, the guardian God of 
Israel, not to utter a word which he does not" put into. his 
mouth. Strange infatuation ! What marvellous incon- 
sistency of conduct with conscience ! 

Amidst the pomp of sacrifices, and the accompaniment 
of princes and nobles, Balaam ascended to the high 
places of Baal, — to one of those lofty eminences, upon 
which it was the custom of ancient time to perform the 
rites of religion, — those silent, lonely, and ethereal re- 
gions, where, since the world began, the mind, impressed 
and awed by the surrounding grandeur of nature, most 
readily and spontaneously rises towards the Divinity. 
The many thousands of Israel, outstretched in their 
encampments, are seen from the eminence. The spirit 
of inspiration comes over the mind of the soothsayer, who 
is now a prophet indeed. Under this uncontrollable, 
divine impulse, he utters the following sublime words : • — 

“ Balak, the king of Moab, brought me from Aram, 

Called me from the mountains of the East. 

Come hither, and curse me Jacob ; 

Come hither, and denounce Israel. 

How can I curse whom God hath not cursed ? 

How can I denounce whom God hath not denounced V 
From the rocky summit I behold the nation, 

From the mountain- tops I survey them. 

Behold a people that dwelleth alone, 

And joins not itself with the nations. 

Who can count the dust of Jacob ? 

Or number the fourth of Israel ? 

Let me but die the death of the righteous, 

And let my last end be like his.” — Herder's Translation. 


142 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


Balak, who hears the diviner uttering blessings, in- 
stead of curses, upon Israel, as if it were an unlucky 
spot where he stood, entreats him to take his stand, 
successively, upon two different eminences near by ; 
where, as upon the first, altars are prepared and sacrifices 
offered. Still Balaam could only pronounce blessings 
upon Israel. 

To conciliate the angry king, and in return for the 
rewards of divination, Balaam, it has always been under- 
stood, advised Balak to adopt a course of seduction, 
which scattered desolation and ruin for a while amidst 
the thousands of Israel. Although these counsels, subtle 
and mischievous as they were, and fatal as were their 
results to a large portion of the people, could not frus- 
trate the ultimate purpose of Jehovah to bless Israel, 
as the soothsayer had been constrained to declare. 

In the character of Balaam, swayed by mixed motives 
and feelings, compounded of avarice, and reverence for 
the authority of the true God, whose inspiration he had 
felt ; so meanly obsequious to the king, yet so sternly 
faithful to the divine voices and visions ; we have pre- 
sented to us a mirror, in which we may all see our own 
inconsistencies, and those common to humanity, exhibited 
in strong relief. We see, in this remarkable example, a 
man evidently obedient to good and holy impulses, yet 
drawn away and enticed to sin, by his greediness for gain 
and distinction, as a magician ; a man manifestly of very 
mixed character, who, like every man that has lived, in 
some instances in his life, while he saw and approved the 


BALAAM SMITING THE ASS. 


143 


right, yet pursued the wrong. While he affirms that a 
house full of silver and gold could not swerve him to 
utter a word other or different from what he was in- 
structed by God to speak ; while he breathes forth the 
earnest prayer, the natural and universal aspiration of 
every human heart that is not utterly obtuse, or seared 
past feeling, that he might die the death of the righteous, 
and his last end be like his ; he yet goes, straight from 
uttering the solemn inspirations of God — from the felt- 
presence of the Divinity — from the visioned glory and 
blessedness of the righteous in death and eternity — he 
goes to perpetrate the guilty deed ; to counsel the king 
to entice, by his women, the Israelites to licentiousness 
and idolatry. Like the thousands and ten thousands in 
every age since his day, the self-deluded, infatuated 
soothsayer wishes to die the death, without living the life, 
of the righteous. 


JOSHUA DIVIDING THE WATERS OF THE RIVER JORDAN. 


BY REV. THOMAS LAURIE. 

The Jordan! fount of hallowed associations! How 
many thoughts of ancient goodness, patriarchal piety, 
and prophetic power, are linked with the name ! How 
often has Abraham, that pilgrim and stranger in the 
earth, crossed and recrossed its rushing waters. Lot, 
too, and Isaac, Jacob, with no possession save his shep- 
herd’s staff, passed over this Jordan, a fugitive from 
his father’s tents. Did the lonely wanderer perish amid 
those rugged mountains and vast solitudes ? Wait ; see 
him repass it ; “ a prince of God,” with sons and 
daughters, and numerous attendants, covering its banks 
with their tents, and flocks and herds devouring and 
treading down the verdure of its shores. Next see his 
children — a weary host — shut out, for forty years, from 
sight of fertile field and shady tree, mustering their tens 
of thousands on its eastern side. They have been hungry 
and thirsty ; they have been homeless and desert-driven. 
They pitched their tents on the sand, and when they left, 
the winds — ready servants of the jealous solitude — 
swept away every vestige of their presence. Or they 
encamped in the unmitigated ruggedness of granite val- 
leys, and soon the desert-storm whistled through recesses 
and disjointed rents, so lately echoing the confused noise 




\V L.OrinsUv, 


Nt‘\v York. 





JOSHUA DIVIDING THE WATERS. 


145 


of men, and flocks, and herds. In such circumstances, a 
whole generation had passed away. The fire of God had 
selected its victims from that guilty host. The sword of 
the foe had drunk the blood of Israel. Terror-stricken 
they had bowed before the plague. Three thousand had 
been cut off by the sword of the sons of Levi, when 
brother fell by the hand of brother, throughout the camp. 
Some had gone down alive to the pit ; and many a one 
had died and been hid in the sand, where his children 
would never recognize his grave, and strangers would 
never know that they trod over the dust of a son of 
Abraham. 

But now their desert-life has ended. And the goodly 
plain of the Jordan gives rich earnest of the promised 
land. The flocks, so long used to the scanty supplies of 
the desert, now revel in green pastures, and, their hunger 
sated, lie down under the trees, on the cool margin of 
the stream. Every heart in that multitude is glad, and 
full of hope. Many a thought is thrown forward to 
what lies before them. The land flowing with milk and 
honey ; land of oil and wine ; of bubbling spring and 
mountain streamlet ; or, the land of fenced cities and 
strong men, sons of Anak, — might be heard passing from 
mouth to mouth, as faith or fear predominated. Woman, 
too, is feasting on thoughts of a settled home ; the com- 
forts with which she will fill it ; the simple ornaments 
with which her own hands will adorn it. The very chil- 
dren catch the general joy ; and in childish mode they 
plan their mutual occupations in the fields and vineyards 
which will surround their father’s house. 

13 


146 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


Let us pass by these outer objects, and look in on 
their inner thoughts. Three days they rest by the 
banks of Jordan ; three days have they opportunity for 
recollection, and meditation, and earnest thought. Did 
not their hearts go back to the many times they had 
provoked God to anger by their sins ? Did they not 
remember all the way in which the Lord had led them ? 
How, notwithstanding their unbelief, he wrought wonders 
in the land of Ham, and brought them out of the house 
of bondage ? Did they not recollect the dividing of the 
Red Sea, and their enemies dead upon the seashore ? 
And then the rock that w r as cleft, and the waters that 
flowed from the flinty rock ? the bread from heaven, 
when they did eat angels’ food ? Did not these thoughts 
melt their hearts ? Memory, too, recalls a father or a 
mother left behind, under the sand of the desert ; or that 
meek man, who bore so patiently with their provocations, 
whose intercessions had warded off destruction, and yet 
who, on account of a hasty word, which their wickedness 
had drawn forth, was not allowed to share with them 
this day’s blessedness. Was it not the memory of such 
things, in full view of that goodly landscape they were 
spared to see, that subdued their proud hearts in peni- 
tence, and made them say to their new leader, “ All that 
thou commandest us we will do ; and whithersoever thou 
sendest us, we will go ; whosoever doth rebel against thy 
commandment, and will not hearken to thy words in all 
that thou commandest him, he shall be put to death.” 

But the brotherly greetings with those who are to 
remain on this side Jordan, are finished. The tents are 


JOSHUA DIVIDING THE WATERS. 


147 


all struck. The host stands again in marching array. 
The priests, bearing the ark, have gone down in the 
presence of all Israel, to the water’s edge. They have 
reached it; for see, the headlong flood is suddenly 
arrested, and, flowing back upon itself, stands an aston- 
ished spectator of the power of God. What ailed thee, 
0 thou sea, that thou fleddest? Thou Jordan, that thou 
wast driven back ? Tremble, thou earth, at the presence 
of the Lord, at the presence of the God of Jacob. 
God was there. The glad people recognize the hand of 
their father’s God. They follow on with confidence, for 
they know who opens this triumphal pathway into the 
promised land. They follow on, subdued by the power 
of love ; for this new favor, telling that their sins had 
not exhausted his goodness, that with God there is still 
multitudes of tender mercies, opens the fountain of their 
tears ; and, in the tumult of their joy, many a tear moist- 
ens the dry channel of the river — tears of sorrow for 
the past, and holy determination for the time to come. 
Who would not have loved to be even a looker-on at that 
goodly sight ? that glorious display of the power of a 
present God, working penitence, and love, and holiness 
in the hearts of his children ? 

But they did not leave sin behind them ; and therefore 
that promised land was not the better city to which Abra- 
ham looked, which all his children hoped to see. 

So many a spiritual blessing, enjoyed at our crossing 
over into the rich fields of some new promise, shall fade 
away. For the sins which plagued the desert, eat out 
and destroy the blessedness of the earthly Canaan, 


148 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


But when our Joshua,* who guides and sustains us 
through the wilderness, shall cleave for us a pathway 
through the river of death, then shall we enter the new 
Jerusalem, fully and for ever happy. 

We turn to other scenes. 

It was on a warm morning in April, 184-, that we 
took our stations by the Garden of Gethsemane, waiting 
for our companions who were to go with us to the Jordan. 
We had been now some weeks in Jerusalem. But the 
insecurity of the roads, which the Arabs rendered unsafe 
to any but a large party, accompanied by a guard, deter- 
mined us to wait and go with the pilgrims, in their annual 
visit. We thus secured the double advantage of seeing 
those scenes so hallowed by sacred associations, and an 
exhibition of superstition, in one of its noted forms. The 
pilgrims, mostly of the Greek or eastern church, had 
witnessed the “saturnalia” of the “sacred fire” ; visited 
the prescribed round of holy places ; and it only re- 
mained that they should go to the Jordan, and be there 
baptized in their grave-clothes, to secure their happiness 
when next they should be called to wear them. 

There were several companies of American travellers 
in the holy city. And as, on this morning, the thousands 
that choked the narrow streets rendered it difficult to 
meet together in the city, we had agreed on this point as 
a common rendezvous. 

As we stood there, we had a full view of the cavalcade 
emerging from St. Stephen’s gate. It wound down the 


* The reader will recollect that Joshua is the Hebrew for Jesus. 


JOSHUA DIVIDING THE WATERS. 


149 


steep side of the valley of Jehoshaphat, passed the place 
where tradition points out the scene of the first martyr- 
dom, and then crossing the bridge to where we stood, 
moved on along the western side of Olivet. Crowds of 
women and children, mostly seated on the ground, lined 
the path on both sides, almost to the bottom of the valley. 
The white veils of the women, the holiday dresses of the 
children, and the moving, motley crowd between them, 
formed a strange but goodly picture. First came the 
soldiers who were to guard the caravan, straggling along 
in the most picturesque confusion. Some were on foot, 
and some on horseback ; some were Arabs, and some 
were Turks. The yellow head-dress of the Bedowee* 
moved side by side with the scarlet fez f of the Turkish 
soldier. The uniform of the new nizamt compared 
poorly with the gay costume of the olden time, before- 
contact with Europe had made inroads on the Oriental 
drapery of the Osmanlee. Each rapidly discharged his 
firearms, loading and firing in the utmost disorder. 
Most urged their horses to full speed, and fired in mid 
career ; then slowly reloaded as they went. The crowd 
that followed baffles all description. All sexes, ages, 
ranks, countries, and creeds, are commingled ; but the 
adherents of the Greek church, from Turkey, Greece, 


* Name of the Arab of the Desert. 

f The peculiar head-dress worn by the Turk of the modern school. It 
is in the shape of a rimless hat, with a tassel of blue silk springing out of 
the centre of the crown, and falling gracefully down to the neck. 

J Turkish name for the regular army, organized according to the Eu- 
ropean tactics, introduced with so much difficulty and danger, by Sultan 
Mahmoud. 


13 * 


150 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


and Russia, composed the mass. A pair, who had passed 
more than the allotted threescore-and-ten in some inland 
province of Asia Minor, ride on opposite sides of the same 
mule. Next, a camel groans beneath the unusual burden 
of a whole household from the interior of Russia. There 
goes an Armenian, Russian crosses of honor dangling 
from the breast of his military coat. He won them in 
battles on the banks of the Araxes, and on the plains of 
unhappy Poland. The Englishman prances along on his 
high-mettled steed ; his makacry* follows in some distant 
part of the crowd, with his tent and sundry importations 
of English comfort piled on the backs of refractory 
mules. Here, a poor pilgrim trudges on foot. There, 
the fiery Greek, in his national costume, is spurring on, 
heedless alike of others’ comfort and his own. Women 
and children keep sad time, in their unwieldly cages, to 
the awkward motions of the camel. Donkeys amble 
along between hare, sun-burnt legs, that almost reach the 
ground on either side. All was noise and confusion. 
Some had already lost their companions ; others, like 
ourselves, had not yet found them. More than twenty 
languages stun your ears at once, in the intervals of bar- 
barous music and the reports of the firearms. Hats, black 
sheep-skin caps, turbans, all imaginable head-dresses, flit 
rapidly by. All hurry to secure a place of safety for 
themselves, careless of the comfort of all beside. 


* Name for the livery-stable keepers in Syria, who hire their animals, 
chiefly mules, to the merchant or traveller, and go along, generally in 
person, and sometimes by a trusty representative, to take care of them on 
the road. 


JOSHUA DIVIDING THE WATERS. 


151 


We were heartily glad when our companions came ; 
though, had our friends at home been looking for us in 
the crowd, it would have puzzled them to select their 
respective acquaintance from among our bearded and 
sun-burnt group ; while Arab girdles and yellow shawls 
would not have lessened the uncertainty. Our baggage 
had long preceded us ; and, urging on our horses, we 
passed the crowds that for more than an hour had been 
passing us. The path wound round the southern slopes 
of Olivet, through the little village of Bethany, and down 
into the wilderness of Judea. Here all was desolation. 
The eastern side of the mount behind us, presented a 
barren surface of rock. White stoney ridges shut out all 
view of the plain of the Jordan ; and the bleak tops of 
the mountains of Moab frowned over the whole, far before 
us. The caravan lay like a crooked thread, in a deep 
gorge — now disappearing round some sharp corner, and 
again emerging in the distance. The trampling of many 
feet had beat the dry soil of the narrow path into a white, 
floating powder, through which we rode. No green 
thing was to be seen. Here, an inaccessible precipice 
rose abruptly from one side of the path ; there, another 
equally steep, sunk suddenly away on the other. The 
whole region was made up of high, narrow ridges, running 
parallel to impassable ravines, intersecting each other in 
every direction. 

And now confusion increases. One breaks his trap- 
pings, and turns aside to mend them ; the rest jostle 
him as they pass. Camels kneel down for a readjustment 
of their shapeless loads. Some animals, which old age 


152 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


or hard usage had rendered unfit to travel, are already 
giving out ; and their riders curse their owners, and vent 
their fury on the poor beasts, already exerting their 
utmost strength. Here a bulky load, from under which 
the mule can just protrude his head, forbids our passing 
till we reach a wider part of the road. There, a family 
irritated by heat, and thirst, and painful postures, are 
giving sad pictures of the harmony of Oriental domestic 
life. Those better off, are already resorting to their 
baskets and water-bottles. No sign of devotion is to be 
seen. One might mistake it for the shattered remnant 
of an army, with its camp-followers fleeing from defeat ; 
or a noisy squad of the dissipated builders, fresh from the 
brick-kilns and the slime-pits of the land of Shinar — any 
thing, rather than a religious procession. Sometimes the 
soldiers stop to allow the broken line to reunite ; and 
again they ride this way and that, as though they would 
impress us with their fidelity to their charge. Well they 
may ; for there sits a group of Arabs, on an adjoining 
summit, alike ready to pounce on the incautious straggler, 
or bargain to protect travellers who wish to go to the 
Dead Sea, from their own depredations. 

It was after noon when we reached the western edge 
of the great valley of the Jordan, and looked down on 
the once fertile plain of Jericho. The city of palm-trees 
now consists of a dilapidated castle, overlooking a few 
mud-huts, and small fields watered by a stream that 
flows from the fountain of Elisha. The plain presents 
generally a parched and arid surface, partly covered with 
a thick growth of thorny shrubs, among which grows the 


JOSHUA DIVIDING THE WATERS. 


153 


celebrated apples of Sodom. The little barley that is 
still raised is already threshed, and was in the market of 
Jerusalem before we left. 

The heat grows more intense as we descend ; and just 
in the hottest part of the day we reach our place of en- 
campment. We lie down under the shade of the thorn- 
bushes ; saunter through the encampment, that enlarges 
itself on every side, as successive groups arrive and 
arrange themselves for the night ; and as evening ap- 
proaches, we make a pilgrimage to the Spring of the 
waters which Elisha healed ; not without danger, as it 
lies some miles to the northwest, and one Englishman has 
already been attacked in the vicinity, by the Arabs, and 
escaped only by the timely appearance of his companions. 

Night comes, and we are surrounded by a line of 
Turkish sentries, uttering their incessant watch-cry ; 
while fires here and there shed a ruddy glare on every 
form and hue of dress. The Greek capote, the Arab 
cloak or ’abba, the loose robes of the citizen, and the 
rough shalwar of the countryman, flit hither and thither. 
Nor must we forget you, simple-hearted pilgrim from 
Siberia, dressed in garments made from the skins of 
your flocks, now almost arrived at the goal, the thoughts 
of which have beguiled the tedium of your long and 
lonely journey. Some prepare their evening meal; 
others have none to prepare, but throw themselves down 
exhausted on the earth to sleep. Soon all follow their 
example, for at two o’clock we must proceed to the 
Jordan. That hour arrives; and rousing from broken 
slumber, tents are struck and loaded amid a concert of 


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all sounds, from the deep guttural of the camel to the 
shrill cries of childhood. Already the greater part of 
the caravan are before us ; and far in the distance we 
discern through the gloom, long rows of torches, shining 
like beacon-fires on the level plain. AYe follow in dark- 
ness, hut not in silence, till the first streak of dawn, 
pouring over the mountains of Moab, find us descending 
the outer banks of Jordan. Some have already dis- 
mounted, to avoid the pressure at the water’s edge. We 
force our way amid donkeys, men, bushes, women and 
children, camels and baggage, in one commingled mass. 
One woman has already been killed by a fall from her 
camel, and is hastily buried on the spot. Lesser acci- 
dents occur, too numerous to mention. 

The sun just rising reveals the scene at the water side. 
There is Jordan — the far-famed Jordan, in size a creek, 
rolling his tide, as muddy hut more rapid than our own 
Father of Waters. Floating trunks and branches of 
trees heighten the resemblance. A growth of trees, 
thick but small, lines either shore. The winding stream 
hems in our view above and below. Pilgrims cover the 
bank as far as we can see. Vessels of every material 
and shape are eagerly plunged into the stream, and 
drawn up full of the sacred waters. Immediately around 
us the margin is ankle-deep in mud, from the constant 
tread of many feet. Each one pushes aside his neighbor. 
Oaths, curses, and quarreling, drown all other sounds. 
Gentleness and kindness form no part of the religion of 
this hour. Thoughts of Christ and redeeming love flee 
from the rough and aDgry strife. Idolatrous cries to 


JOSHUA DIVIDING THE WATERS. 


155 


Mary and the saints — cries which, if heard, are spurned 
with shuddering by those to whom they are addressed — 
are the only worship congenial to these unholy rites. 
Greek priests, standing in the stream, immerse the 
shameless wretches, who, in such circumstances, change 
their garments, and are plunged three times under the> 
waters. 

A horse broken loose from his rider floats rapidly past. 
Do our eyes deceive us ? or i3 it true ? One of the 
pilgrims has slipped from the hands of the priest, and 
disappeared. No ; far down he rises — struggles — 
shrieks for relief ; again he sinks, and further still he 
rises, — but the half-uttered shriek is drowned and 
smothered by the closing waters. It seemed like the 
testimony of Jordan, and the maker of Jordan, against 
the impious rites that profaned its shores. He never 
rose again. A few eyes, for a moment, are turned on 
him, hut are again quickly withdrawn to their own con- 
cerns. One, and only one, seems to mourn his loss. 
His mother, running hither and thither, in her agony, 
tears her dripping grave-clothes, and lifts up her hands 
in frantic despair. Every year witnesses one or more 
such sacrifices to a frantic superstition. We hear of two 
others thus carried away by the waters. But in such 
confusion rumor talks with many tongues, and we are 
unwilling to credit more than what we see. That is 
enough ! Other scenes transpired, too horrid for descrip- 
tion. We hurried from the scene, glad to exchange its 
active horrors for the solitary plain and the silent shores 
of the Dead Sea. 


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SACRED TABLEAUX. 


How different this, from those scenes of ancient days. 
What of divine presence or holy influence is here, in these 
orgies of mad fanaticism ? 0 thou God of Abraham, 

and Isaac, and Jacob — God of Joshua and Elisha — 
thou Son of God, who didst tread these shores with thy 
hallowed feet, hasten the end of such insane delusion, 
and make the scenes of thy humiliation to behold the 
triumphs of thy spiritual kingdom. 


JOSHUA COMMANDING THE SUN TO STAND STILL. 


BY DR. DAVID NEWCOMB. 


Mankind, in all ages, have admired great military 
chieftains. The sublimity of war, its thrilling scenes of 
danger and of death, and the magnificence of its scale of 
operations, all conspire to throw a halo of glory and 
renown around the names of daring and heroic w r arriors. 
Those commanders whose successes have been many, 
whose victories have been eminent, whose triumphs have 
been brilliant and complete, and their skill and resource 
adequate to every emergency, have gained the applause 
of all ages, and their lives and characters have been the 
themes of unceasing admiration. The names of many 
such chieftains has the page of history preserved ; and 
the praises of their valiant deeds have been handed down 
to us in story and in song ; yet, among them all, either of 
ancient or modern date, we know of none more worthy of 
admiration and deserving of fame, than the victorious 
general in the battle of Gibeon. 

We are apt to overlook the merits of the wars of the 
early ages — those times when men first learned to form 
the battle’s horrid front — and especially the achieve- 
ments of war recorded in Scripture history, because the 
account of them is so succinct and unadorned. They 


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lack the imagery of imagination, and the brilliancy of 
description, with which our more modern battles are 
recorded ; yet we may rest assured they fall not a whit 
behind the wars of our own times, either in dignity or 
terribleness ; for none were more sanguinary, more 
deadly, or more imposing than they. 

But in the battle of Mount Gibeon, short and hurried 
as is the account, there are two or three features of more 
than ordinary interest ; features which instantly rivet the 
attention of the reflective mind, and for parallels to 
which, it searches in vain through the long pages of the 
world’s history. Occurrences, strange as they were 
mighty, wonderful as they were omnipotent, and inter- 
esting as they were extraordinary. But we will give a 
descriptive narrative of the battle, that the reader may 
judge for himself whether wrongly or not we have 
aroused his curiosity, or whether our own imagination 
has led us unworthily to magnify the events of the day. 

It seems, according to the sacred historian, that the 
Gibeonites, by means of fraud and dissimulation, had 
made peace with Israel ; and that when the Israelites 
discovered the deception, out of respect to the oath they 
had sworn, they did not annul, but ratified the peace 
already concluded. This default of Gibeon incensed the 
kings of the surrounding cities, and caused them to be 
greatly alarmed ; for Gibeon was one of the royal cities, 
and many were its mighty men of valor. They saw the 
strong barrier between the invincible legions of Israel 
and themselves broken down, and the next march of the 
invaders would bring them to the gates of their own 


THE COMMAND OF JOSHUA. 


159 


cities. Animated by both fear and rage, they determined 
to punish and bring back the defaulting city to their 
betrayed confederacy. For this purpose, five kings 
united their forces, and marching with a fierce and 
mighty army, they sat down against Gibeon. Then it 
was, when the Gibeonites saw the number, strength, and 
rage of their incensed foes ; when they saw themselves 
encompassed ; and when they felt their own inadequate- 
ness to resist, that they sent in haste to the renowned 
Joshua : 44 Come to us quickly ; help us ; save us ; for 
all the kings of the Amorites, that dwell in the moun- 
tains, are gathered together against us. Slack not thy 
hand ; for the mighty men of war, even the terrible men 
of the hills, are come to destroy us.” Joshua listened to 
their prayer. Collecting the hosts of Israel, he struck his 
camp at Gilgal, and marched to the relief of Gibeon. 
Fiercely the besiegers pushed their works against it; 
strong were their efforts to reduce the city ; nor were 
they intimidated, even when they heard of the approach 
of Joshua. With a mighty army, strongly intrenched, 
and with liberty to choose their own ground, they hesi- 
tated not to court the battle. We are five against one, 
what should we fear ? J oshua was aware of his inferi- 
ority of force ; aware of the fierce and warlike energy of 
the Amorites ; aware of their prowess in battle ; yet God 
had said, Fear not ; and, boldly and confidently, on he 
led his army. But he was a skilful general ; he knew 
the advantages of a surprise ; he knew the utility of a 
sudden attack ; and, adopting the tactics which in our 
own age gained so many brilliant successes to that thun- 


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derbolt of war, Napoleon, he made a rapid and forced 
march by night ; “all night he went up from Gilgal ; ” 
and lo, suddenly, in the grey of the morning, he stood 
before the astonished kings, with the embattled hosts of 
Israel drawn up for strife. Thus, at the early dawn, 
commenced the battle of Gibeon. Then rushed the hosts 
to mortal strife ; then rang loud clamors, as shield clanged 
on shield, as spear met spear, as helmet rattled against 
helmet, and foe closed with foe. The shouts of the 
leaders ; the blasts of brazen-throated trumpets ; the 
shrieks of pain ; and the groans of horrid death, mingled 
in appalling confusion ; and from that field of blood, went 
up the stormy noise of furious combat. Nor must we 
consider this battle as a petty and insignificant affair. 
When we remember that Israel could bring into the field 
six hundred thousand men of war, — all mighty men of 
valor, — and the five kings could probably far exceed that 
number, and that too of wild and warlike mountaineers, 
we must at once be convinced it was no common battle, 
no petty combat, which raged on the heights of Gibeon. 
War, in its most terrible aspect, was there, and battle 
fierce and sanguinary as ever stained the soil of Europe. 

But pass we over the detail of the combat, until the 
moment of victory, — the moment, when, overpowered, 
the Amorites threw down their arms and fled. Up to 
this time, the strife had been between man and man ; 
but now the scene was changed : Jehovah joins himself 
to the forces of Israel, and the strife is between God 
and man. Now came the display of those extraordinary 
occurrences which distinguish this battle above every 


THE COMMAND OF JOSHUA. 


161 


other fought on earth, and which makes the battle-ground 
of Gibeon far exceed in celebrity the plains of patriotic 
Marathon, or of bloody Austerlitz. It is one of the few 
battles in which God ever deigned directly to manifest 
his interposition ; and the tradition of which may possibly 
have first inspired Homer with the idea of introducing 
his own gods into the conflicts of men. The Amorites 
have broken and fled in various directions. Some 
towards Azekah and Makkedah ; some towards Beth-ho- 
ron ; and victorious Israel hangs towering in their rear. 
It was at this juncture, that the heavens gathered black- 
ness ; that in mid-air was seen the fearful portents of 
vengeance and wrath ; and the dark sky clothed itself in 
the habiliments of tempest and storm. The artillery of 
heaven was preparing for carnage, and lo, in dreadful 
volleys, it poured upon the discomfited fugitives. Vain 
now is flight to Azekah ! Before, behind, on either hand, 
fall the terrific hailstones, crushing the unhappy Amor- 
ites, and ploughing up the earth in every direction. 
Dreadful is the destruction ; fearful the scene ; who can 
escape, when God arms himself? How strangely fall 
those deadly hailstones ! Though pursued and pursuer 
follow hard upon each other ; though Amorite and Isra- 
elite mingle confusedly together ; yet, as if instinct with 
intelligence, they miss the children of God, and fall only 
on the heads of their foes. Thus heaven fights for its 
own, nor harms a single friend. Terrible are the weapons 
of Jehovah ; “ for they were more which died with hail- 
stones, than they whom the children of Israel slew w T ith 
the sword.” 


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But how was it with those who fled towards the east, 
and ran in the “ going-down to Beth-horon? ” Shall they 
escape ? shall they flee away out of God’s hand ? 
Weary and faint, they fly almost in despair ; for Israel 
comes on hotly, though fatigued by the night’s march 
and a day of fight. Yet now again hope springs up in 
the bosoms of the vanquished ; for, see ! the day speeds 
to a close, and the fugitive discerns with joy the sun 
declining rapidly towards the horizon. “ A little longer 
flight, a little longer effort, and I shall be safe ; night 
shall hide me from the enemy, and darkness favor my 
escape.” On fly the conquered ; on rush the pursuers! 
now fighting, while the enemy turn at bay ; now fol- 
lowing, when they flee again. Much yet remains to be 
done ; Israel is yet unavenged ; when Joshua, attracted, 
perhaps, by the signs of expiring day, pauses and casts 
a look behind him: behold, the sun is dipping into the 
horizon, and the night is at hand ! He perceives dark- 
ness will soon put an end to the contest, and the enemy 
will escape out of his hand. Oppressed with regret at 
this, and fearful lest they may rally under the cover of 
night, a moment he stands in doubt ; when suddenly the 
spirit of prophecy falls upon him, and he is inspired with 
the power of God. Stretching himself up, and casting 
his eyes towards the luminaries of heaven, he cries out, 
in the sight of all Israel, “ Sun, stand thou still upon 
G lBEON ; AND THOU, MOON, IN THE VALLEY OF AjALON.” 
His difficulties have vanished ; he delays not a moment ; 
but turns and continues the pursuit of his foes. 

Now appears a wonder never before seen, nor ever 


THE COMMAND OF JOSHUA. 


163 


since seen, by the inhabitants of earth. The sun — the 
large-orbed, setting sun — hangs pendant over the hori- 
zon, ready for his setting, yet he “ haste th not to go 
down.” There he lingers; there he tarries; as if he, too, 
wished to view the conflict, and to observe the issue of 
the strife. There he lingers, large and resplendent, to 
Israel a blessing, but to the Canaanite a curse. “ Why 
tarries the setting sun ? ” cries the wearied fugitive, 
as he begins to be impatient at its slowness. “ Why 
tarries the setting sun ? ” he cries again, as wonder 
succeeds the impatience of his bosom. “ Why tarries the 
sun ? ” he exclaims the third time, as despair fastens 
upon him ; and, sinking exhausted to the ground, 
the spear of the Israelite pierces his heart. Thus fled 
the Amorite in doubt, in wonder, and in despair ; but 
not so pursued the army of Joshua. They had heard 
the command of their leader ; they wondered not at the 
extraordinary occurrence ; for they were familiar with 
miracles, and they knew the power of their God. In- 
vigorated and inspirited by the signal of Jehovah, hung 
out on the sun, they pushed their advantage with 
redoubled ardor. There hangs the burning sun over 
Gibeon ; yonder stays the radiant moon on Ajalon. 
Oppressed with the panic of flight, and terrified with 
fear, the wretched Canaanite discovers his own gods are 
adverse to him. He has prayed them to withdraw their 
shining, and to hide them from the face of his enemies ; 
but instead of receiving favorable answers, he becomes 
assured that they fight for his foes : see ! they linger to 
give light, that he may be slain. Wretched man ! he 


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discovers too late he has mocked the true God, and 
bowed himself in worship to vain and senseless matter. 
His own gods are vanquished by the God of Israel ; and 
he sinks in death, conquered in belief, as in strength. 

There is another feature in this miracle worthy of 
observation ; that is, the length of time which the sun 
remained above the horizon. It would have been won- 
derful, had the sun refused to go down for the space of 
an hour or two ; but when the suspension of his race is 
extended to a whole day, the wonder of the occurrence 
is greatly increased. That it hasted not to go down by 
the space of twenty-four hours, and not twelve, as some 
have supposed, appears to be evidenced by the phrase- 
ology of the text, “ about a whole day,” and also by the 
amount of labor accomplished by Joshua within the limits 
of that double day. The pursuit was carried to the 
fenced cities ; the people returned to Makkedah, took it, 
and destroyed the inhabitants thereof ; after which fol- 
lowed the hanging of the five kings, and their removal 
from the trees, ere the sun, loosed from the hand of its 
Creator, again sunk below the horizon, and night once 
more reigned over all the land. Two days and one night 
was the sun visible, three fourths of which time it had 
stood stationary over Gibeon, and “ had not hasted to go 
down.” It would not be very profitable to enter into the 
disquisitions of many speculative minds, who have labored 
to explain the modus operandi of this miracle. It affects 
not our astonishment at, nor our belief of, the occurrence, 
though all have failed thoroughly to harmonize it with the 
laws of philosophy. Let the philosophic-theologian bring 


THE COMMAND OF J.OSHUA. 


165 


up in explanation the laws of reflected and refracted 
light ; or the effects which would attend the cessation of 
the earth’s diurnal move, for a day ; or, indeed, any 
other of the many theories used to solve the method 
of this miracle : he assists not thereby our faith ; 
“ he only darkeneth counsel by words without knowl- 
edge.” It is a divinely-attested fact ; its actual occur- 
rence cannot he questioned; and why should the faith 
which can admit the stilling of the tempest, the raising 
of the dead, and the creation of supernatural darkness, — 
“ even of darkness which might be felt,” — start back in 
skeptic fright, when the production of supernatural light 
is averred? The faith which doubts not the one, cannot 
surely demur at the other. No wonder, then, that this 
miracle, which signalized the battle-strife at Gibeon, 
should stand forth in letters of living light from the page 
of history, to challenge our strongest admiration and our 
most profound wonder, when the most learned men who 
have ever existed on earth sink confounded before the 
skill of God, and stand abashed from even the shadow of 
an interpretation of this act of his power. We read not 
the sacred page as a philosopher, but as an admirer of 
the wisdom and strength of the Almighty ; as a sincere 
lover of the truths of well-attested history ; and we cannot 
help believing this battle of the Israelites, and indeed 
the whole career of Joshua, as most wonderful. Eugene 
performed many warlike feats ; Frederick excelled in 
skill and indomitable energy ; Napoleon astonished all 
Europe with his generalship : but Joshua exceeded them 
all ; for he led into strife not only men harnessed for the 


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battle, but, when occasion required, pressed even nature 
itself into his service. His victories are blazoned with 
prodigies ; and his battles outshine in glory and splendor 
the most famous ones of all other chieftains. 

What field of combat can compare with Gibeon’s ? 
What other field ever presented such a prolonged fight ? 
When was there ever so much accomplished in one con- 
test ? — a contest where not only five nations were van- 
quished at once, but where a retreat was followed up to 
its utmost consequences and advantages, a city sacked 
and pillaged, and five kings at once exterminated ! 
Long then as history shall embalm the fame of battle- 
fields ; long as it shall recall the mighty deeds of war ; 
long as it shall fill the ear of posterity with the tales of 
the past, shall Gibeon stand first among the battle- 
grounds of earth, and hold, fearless of being excelled, 
its strange and unapproachable preeminence. 








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W. L.O n n si > v . N i *w Vo rk 





FULFILMENT OF JEPHTHAH’S EASH VOW. 


BY REV. GEORGE E. ELLIS. 

The Old Testament, interpreted with Christian com- 
ments, has to us, perhaps, a higher value than it possessed 
for its original readers. As the line of ages extends the 
distance of time at which it was written, its records, even 
when printed with the fairest types, on the whitest paper, 
will still bear with them the associations of the ancient 
parchment-scroll. When we retrace and deepen the in- 
scription upon some old monument, over which the moss 
has gathered, we must follow the outlines of the antique 
letters. So, too, in reading the narratives of the Old Tes- 
tament, we must revert to customs and views not like 
our own, but belonging to the past. 

The writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews enumerates 
a long list of Jewish worthies, who stand as examples of 
faith in the various modes in which it may be exercised. 
These examples are arranged in classes, — patriarchs, 
sages, heroes, prophets, and martyrs. One class of these 
renowned men of Israel includes the names of Gideon, 
and Barak, and Samson, and Jephthah. These were the 
heroes and champions of the Israelites, in their worst age 
of error and anarchy. Honored they were, not for vir- 
tue, but for their courage and their prowess ; faithful, 


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SACRED TABLEAUX. 


according to their light ; not slothful, but earnest and 
enduring, though faulty men. 

Now, of all the perplexing and astounding narratives 
which we read in the book of Judges, where these heroes 
all figure, the record itself affords a perfectly satisfactory 
explanation. It is repeatedly asserted in that book, that, 
during the period which it describes, there was no consti- 
tuted law or authority in Israel ; and that every man did 
what was right in his own eyes. So that a very large 
portion of all that was done, as a matter of course, was 
wrong. The book of Judges briefly records the history 
of Israel, in their wildest period — a period of more than 
three hundred years ; extending from the death of their 
military leader, Joshua, till the monarchy was established 
under Saul. Joshua appointed no successor, and the 
government was left in the hands of the elders. Strange 
times and strange deeds then constituted the Jewish 
annals. Delivered from Egyptian bondage, after their 
sojourn in the wilderness, and their conflicts with the 
heathen, the Israelites had fought their way to the land 
of Canaan, the former dwelling-place of their fathers. 
They were not yet formed into a consolidated state ; 
they were rude, ignorant, and half-believing, in a tran- 
sition from utter barbarism to a civilized condition. It 
was a period of anarchy and lawlessness. Every facility 
and inducement then offered for wild adventure and mili- 
tary prowess. The imperfect victories over the heathen, 
mingled the Israelites with their idolatrous neighbors, 
vitiated their morals, and confounded what feeble at- 
tempts they may have made to cherish their own religion. 


jephthah’s rash vow. 


169 


The Israelites strayed into the shaded groves, and there 
often took part in the ensnaring and foul rites of pagan 
pollution. 

Every interest and virtue of the chosen people were 
thus made to suffer ; and their views of their Supreme 
Ruler, and of his especial providence over them, became 
corrupted. The word Judges, with its modern associa- 
tions, is strangely inappropriate to the characters who 
successively held sway over Israel at this period. The 
term is misapplied to them. They were, in fact, military 
dictators, daring spirits, who, by adventure or desperate 
heroism, obtained a hazardous and short-lived rule, as 
from time to time they freed their nation from servitude 
to the tribes of the heathen. 

Jephthah was one of these. He was the son of Gilead, 
by a woman of another people. The father had other 
sons by a lawful wife of his own race ; and when he died, 
his legitimate children thrust out J ephthah from a share 
in the inheritance. He fled to the borders, collected a 
company of needy outlaws, and rose to distinction — the 
fame of those days — as their leader. The tribe of 
Ammon, which had long been making predatory inroads 
upon the Israelites, now threatened actual war ; and the 
elders sent to Jephthah, of whose prowess they had 
heard, inviting him to be their captain. With a smart 
reproach, of a sort which still passes current with the 
world, Jephthah reminded them how they had wronged 
him by driving him from his inheritance, when he was a 
humble man, though they now courted his powerful aid 
in their danger. With a humble apology for the past, 


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the elders renewed their entreaty, to which Jephthah 
yielded, on the pledge that if, under his guidance, the 
Israelites should triumph over the Ammonites, he, their 
captain, should become their governor. God being made 
the witness of the covenant, according to the forms and 
ideas of that age, Jephthah returned with the elders, and, 
in a full assembly of the people of Israel, was made their 
chieftain. 

He began his public career more peacefully and hu- 
manely than most conquerors. According to the laws of 
nations, the king of the Ammonites should have stated 
his grievance against Israel, before he had commenced 
hostilities. As he had failed in this, Jephthah conde- 
scended by an embassage to ask of him his cause of 
offence. The monarch resorted to a piece of royal cun- 
ning and artifice, in which he has had many imitators. 
He alleged falsely that the Israelites, on their way from 
Egypt to Canaan, had trespassed on some territory an- 
ciently possessed by the Ammonites and Moabites, and 
he demanded restoration. 

Jephthah, by a second embassage, appealed to history. 
He affirmed that the Israelites had not taken any of the 
land of the Ammonites. That on their way from Egypt, 
their messengers had asked permission, first of the king 
of Edom, and then of the king of Moab, to go peaceably 
through their respective countries. Being refused by 
both, the Israelites, abstaining from strife, had made a 
long circuit round these regions, and had then asked 
permission of a route to Canaan, of Sihon, king of the 
Amorites. He not only refused, but raised his forces 


jephthah’ s rash vow. 


171 


and did battle against the Israelites. God had made his 
people victorious ; and by this title they held the land, 
as the Ammonites held their territory by their god, 
Chemosh. This sound argument Jephthah further en- 
forced. He asked the Ammonite king whether he was 
in any respect better than his royal predecessor, Balak, 
who did not pretend to question the right of the Israelites 
to the land which they thus possessed ; nor had any of 
his predecessors questioned it for the long period of three 
hundred years ; which, indeed, confirmed a title by pre- 
scription. These arguments failing, Jephthah willingly 
committed the issue to Providence, for the heathen king 
resolved on doing battle. 

And now we read that “ the spirit of the Lord came 
upon Jephthah.” What does this mean ? for it may 
perplex a careless reader, and be perverted by a caviller. 
Does it ratify and sanctify all that Jephthah thought and 
did ? By no means. The language must plainly be 
interpreted in a way to except, not to cover over, any 
imperfection or folly in Jephthah. The meaning of the 
phrase must be consistent with the actual effect which 
was wrought upon Jephthah by “ the spirit of the 
Lord.” It means, that he was endowed with the quali- 
ties of courage and skill, which would fit him for his 
command. More it cannot signify, as the event 
proved. 

He collected his forces, and marched. to the country of 
the enemy. Then, with more of piety than all of like 
position have manifested, he committed his cause to God, 
though with a clouded faith, for which we may pity rather 


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than blame him. He uttered the foolish and needless 
vow which has signalized him for its melancholy rati- 
fication. He vowed that if God would make him 
victorious over the Ammonites, he would consecrate 
to him as a victim and a burnt-offering, whatsoever 
first came forth from the doors of his house to meet 
him on his return. There was rashness and folly in 
the vow. It was wrong every way. With one chance 
of the possibility of its easy fulfilment, it involved 
many painful embarrassments and risks. He did not 
distinguish between brute and human objects, nor be- 
tween friends and foes ; and had he first encountered 
an ass or a camel, a dog or a swine, he could have 
offered neither, for the law of Moses made them unclean. 
It was all pride and daring presumption. 

Jephthah confronted the enemy, vanquished, routed, 
and completely subdued them. Did no anxious fear 
cross the path of his brilliant hopes ? Did no weight of 
apprehension sink upon his elated feelings ? During the 
heat of conflict, he might be brave, but during the calm 
of thought at night, like others, he might tremble. Even 
the hero is a father at home, and washes the blood of 
victory from his hands, that he may innocently embrace 
his child. And when the hour of strife is past, and 
pride gathers its laurels from the triumphs and raptures 
of the crowd, he who has made thousands widowed and 
fatherless, sighs to gain the fonder love which nestles 
beneath his own tent or his firmer dwelling. One 
there was awaiting the chieftain of Israel — a maiden 
daughter, his only child ; — beside her he had none 


JfiPHTHAri’S RASH VOW* Vt% 

other. When his public triumph, with its wild shouts, 
was over, she might bind upon his forehead its softest 
chaplet, and come nearest to his heart with her filial 
praise. His hope of a proud and honored progeny 
rested in her. Did no fear cross his soul that that 
young girl might be the first to greet him, and storm 
his heart with a conflict greater than that of the 
battle-field, between a parent’s love and the dread 
of a broken vow ? He might long that a bounding 
kid, or a playful lamb, should first meet his eye ; 
but he had committed to chance a dreadful risk. He 
was a hero of faith, and as he had vowed, so he 
must perform — true to his faith, which, though robed 
in superstition, was strong in its might,, would have 
faced the lion or the tempest), and quailed only before 
God. 

Jephthah drew near to his home at Mizpeh. There 
came a company to greet him with timbrels and with 
dances. But foremost among the crowd, as she should 
have been, was his daughter, the nameless but devoted 
child ; and she was the first to meet him, the costly 
redemption of his vow. What, then, to him, was the 
boisterous triumph, the plaudits which rung and 
echoed over plain and mountain, the homage which 
was offered to the deliverer of his nation ? He had 
a vow upon his soul which it could neither bear nor 
break. 

The dismayed chieftain rent his clothes with anguish. 
Either from his own lips or from one of the crowd, his 
daughter learned what a vow was upon him, and at what 


15 * 


174 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


a fearful cost slie had hastened to be the first to greet 
him. Well might he say, “ Alas ! my daughter, thou 
hast brought me very low ! ” And yet, it was not from 
her, but from his own rash folly, that he bore so deep 
a smart. All his elation, his martial pride, his high 
renown, his especial joy and hope in her, were changed 
to despair and woe. He had opened his mouth to the 
Lord, and he must perform his vow. The victim de- 
votedly resigned herself to her bitter fate ; thus exem- 
plifying, according to her land and time, the three most 
exalted of virtues — submission to God, obedience to her 
father, and patriotism. One only favor she asked ; that 
for two months she might retire to the wild and solitary 
mountains, and there, with her intimates in age and sex, 
might bewail, what to an Israelite or Israelitess, was 
the greatest of calamities — a childless life or death. 
We read that after this brief interval, she returned to 
her father, who “ did with her according to his vow,” 
and that the daughters of Israel annually bewailed 
her fate among the mountains, with four days of lam- 
entation. 

A veil is drawn, in the narrative, over the last scene 
of that ancient sacrifice, — a sacrifice of nature and 
of truth, of humanity and of piety. There is, indeed, 
room for doubt, in the literal construction of the record, 
whether the daughter of Jephthah was immolated, or 
doomed to secluded virginity. It is not said that she 
died, and we know that a human sacrifice, under any 
condition, was solemnly forbidden by the Jewish code. 
Virginity, too, would have been a doom, and might 


jephthah’s rash vow. 


175 


have fulfilled the terms of the pledge. Let mystery 
and doubt rest upon it, leaving only the lesson of a rash 
and needless vow, — a warning against all idle threats 
and promises, against all risks of chance, against all 
attempts to bargain with God. 


ABSALOM SLAIN BY JOAB, IN THE WOOD OF EPHRAIM. 

BY EEV. G. B. CHEEVER, D.D. 

Bringing together the two passages in 2 Samuel, 14 : 
25, 26, and 18 : 9, one is strongly inclined to yield to 
the popular belief, that Absalom was caught in the tree 
by the hair of his head. 

He had taken more pains in cultivating his hair, than 
most men in the East take with their beards ; and it was 
a kind of half-civilized, barbaric taste, though not with- 
out examples of similar folly, even in the most polished 
society. 

Some of the personages about king Solomon’s court 
were selected, according to Josephus, for their long hair ; 
which they wore in flowing tresses, and bedizened with 
gold dust and spangles stuck upon it. 

Now, in regard to the quantity of hair on Absalom’s 
head, it is evident that it might easily be so managed by 
his hair-dressers, with powder and nard, as to reach 
almost any weight not absolutely insupportable. Dr. 
Samuel Clarke tells us that he himself knew an officer, 
whether of his majesty’s army or navy he does not say, 
who had upwards of two pounds weight of powder and 
ointments put upon his head daily. If Absalom dressed 
his hair with ointments and gold dust, and let it grow a 


ABSALOM SLAIN. 


177 


year or two, it might easily weigh an amount otherwise 
incredible. He would have made a splendid Indian 
chief. Absalom’s death was as shameful for a prince, a 
pretended hero, and the heir-apparent to a great king- 
dom, as his life had been profligate. 

There was a retributive Providence in this. God 
would not suffer so great a rebel, so ungrateful and 
treacherous a son, to come to his end in any ordinary or 
respectable way. The nobleness and beauty of Absa- 
lom’s personal appearance, and his affable, insinuating 
manners, had been much relied upon by himself and his 
friends, to gain and keep the hearts of the people ; but 
hearts gotten in this way are not fixed ; they fall off in 
adversity, like leaves in the first strong frost. There was 
not an individual, after the defeat of the army, that 
dared so much as cut him down from the tree and release 
him ; and there he remained, wounded, helpless, wretched, 
and dying. He must have suffered incalculably more in 
mind than in body. 

Poor, wretched, miserable being ! No wonder that 
David lamented over him so bitterly, 0 Absalom, my 
son ! my son ! 

The probability is, that he was nearly dead when Joab 
slew him. The mule ran swiftly through the wood ; and 
the injuries received from so sudden and violent a contact 
against the boughs of the oak must have been terribly 
severe, so as to leave Absalom little strength to endeavor 
to extricate himself. Not only his head and neck must 
have been stunned, bruised, and torn ; but his hair be- 
coming entangled in the branches, he there hung, when 


178 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


the mule fled away, dangling, as a criminal on the gal- 
lows. The punishment of his sins had overtaken him ; he 
was snared in his own wickedness. 

A man’s foolish expenditures upon his vanity often 
ruins him. Some men run their heads into the houghs of 
an oak in one way, some in another. Some ride to 
destruction on the mule of their own obstinacy ; some are 
carried headlong by a blind, ungovernable passion. 

But oftentimes God permits a little sin to be the execu- 
tioner of a man of great villainies. 

Absalom had committed crimes, for which he deserved 
death five times over ; but, at the bottom of all those 
crimes, there lay the master sins of pride and vanity ; and 
it was Absalom’s vanity, after all, that tripped him up. 
He caught the people by his hair ; it was his hair that 
caught him. Little did he think, when so much care was 
lavished upon it, that one day it would prove the cause or 
occasion of his death. All men, in cherishing their sins 
and darling vanities, are cultivating and rearing the gems 
of death. Pleasant seeds they may seem now, a luxurious 
and delicious husbandry ; but the harvest, when per- 
fected, is eternal misery-. 







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SOLOMON’S JUDGMENT. 

BY BEV. M. P. STICKNEY. 

The catechism of the nursery assigns to king Solomon 
the palm of supremacy of wisdom. 

Preeminent among the wise acts of his reign, as well 
as first in time, according to the annals of Holy Scrip- 
ture, was his judgment between the two contending 
harlots. 

It seems, indeed, a coarse and indelicate subject to 
the apprehension of modern refinement ; but, in our 
critical estimation of it, allowance must be made for the 
license of ancient and Oriental manners ; and charity 
suggests, that the Hebrew term for harlot means also a 
hostess ; and, therefore, we are not at liberty to confound 
the two characters. 

The story is strikingly natural and pathetic. It pre- 
sents a scene of actual life, w’arm with the glowing colors 
of truth and reality ; a domestic scene, a glance into 
the mysteries of home-bred life : whose charm has at- 
tracted the painter’s eye, and fired the genius of the 
dramatist. 

In the opinion of a distinguished rabbi, the king had 
discovered which of the suppliants was the mother of the 
living boy, before he summoned the executioner, by the 


ISO 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


signs of maternal feeling in her air and countenance ; 
and the command to divide it was intended, hrt conceives, 
to show to the bj-standers whose was the living child, and 
vindicate the disposal which he would make of it. The 
rabbi speaks disparagingly of the device of dividing the 
child ; and pronounces it a suggestion of mere ordinary- 
sagacity. 

The common impression seems, however, to be the true 
one ; and it is, perhaps, because of the retrospective 
view in which it is considered, that any have questioned 
the peculiar wisdom of the royal expedient. 

The puzzle appears easy, when once we have been told 
the secret of it. 

After the new world had been discovered, the ill- 
natured and envious contemporaries of Columbus pre- 
tended to think the discovery an affair of no great 
merit ; an achievement quite level to the genius and 
ability of common navigators. 

The king had heard the two relations, each sustained 
by the strong allegation of its author ; one of which, 
however, must be false. Yet there were no witnesses ; 
none to confirm, or to refute, the story of either. The 
two women only were in the house ; there was no 
stranger with them. For aught that appears, the king 
could not discern between the real anguish of the true 
mother, and the feigned distress of the pretended one. 
Indeed, each had her cause of grief ; while one found 
that she should be robbed of a living child, the other 
mourned a dead one. 

The obscurity of the case seemed impenetrable. But 


SOLOMON’S JUDGMENT. 


181 


like a sunbeam, piercing the overhanging cloud, the wis- 
dom of the king dispelled the uncertainty which envel- 
oped it, by an expedient immediate and infallible. He 
knew the heart of a true mother ; and, with a sure and 
intuitive sagacity, he opened the casket where the truth 
was concealed. 

“ The king said, Divide the living child in two, and 
give half to the one, and half to the other. Then spake 
the woman whose the living child was unto the king, 0 
my Lord, give her the living child, and in nowise -slay it. 
But the other said, Let it be neither mine nor thine, but 
divide it. Then the king answered, and said, Give her 
the living child, and in nowise slay it ; she is the mother 
thereof. And all Israel heard of the judgment which 
the king had judged, and they feared the king ; for they 
saw that the wisdom of God was in him, to do judgment.” 

Solomon’s judgment was a manifestation of the true 
spirit of wisdom. It bears upon it the clear mark of 
Divinity. It is the affirmation of genius ; which may be 
regarded as a certain divine endowment, that elevates 
its possessor above his fellows, and whose unction consti- 
tutes him, in a sense not merely figurative, the prophet 
of his race. Its proper sphere is above the range of 
common mortals ; but in its enunciations they imme- 
diately recognize the voice of truth, and with so vivid a 
sensation, and so free an assent, that, in an unconscious 
transport, the echo of the prophet’s words seems their 
own utterance. 

The beginning of Solomon’s reign was like the opening 
of a bright and happy day. 
w 


182 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


A youthful monarch, possessed of power, endowed with 
wisdom, and animated by a spirit of beneficence, whose 
deepest anxiety and whose constant aim is the happiness 
of his people, is an object delightful to our contempla- 
tion ; and such an one, prostrate before the throne of 
God, the origin of all power, and the fountain of all 
wisdom, conscious of the weight and difficulty of his trust, 
and meekly imploring his aid “ from whom all good things 
do come, ,, is a spectacle truly sublime. 

The true ruler is the patriarch of his people ; and it 
is, at least, curious to observe, when we would conceive 
the idea of a well-ordered state, how, in spite of the pre- 
possessions of education, the admiration of the spirit of 
progress, and our cherished theories of political freedom 
and equality, our feelings spontaneously revert to patri- 
archal institutions, and we sigh for an outpouring of the 
patriarchal spirit. 

Never are the pure and lofty character, and the tran- 
scendent merits, of him who most safely and most wor- 
thily might be the model of all American rulers so truly 
and so fully described, as when he is called the Father of 
his country; and when the spirit of the patriarchate 
shall return upon the minds of those invested with public 
authority, and, sinking all selfish aims, and receding from 
all extraneous and unworthy pursuits, they shall consider 
fjhe true nature of their charge, — a great household, to be 
guided, governed, and cared for, not abused as the in- 
struments of power, nor preyed upon as the victims of 
peculation, — then we shall expect a fresh affusion of the 
benefits of the sacred and divine institution of government. 


SOLOMON’S JUDGMENT. 


183 


It is a just observation of Bishop Hall, that Solomon’s 
choice of wisdom to govern his kingdom, when the Lord 
appeared to him in the dream, indicated that even then 
his heart was possessed by its power ; and his own book 
of Proverbs affords a glimpse of the wise training and 
careful nurture in which he was bred, The allusion to 
his mother contains, perhaps, the key to his acquaintance 
with the depth and power of maternal feeling, which was 
so available in his judgment between the harlots ; it sug- 
gests the presumption, moreover, that the wise king of 
Israel may be reckoned among the many illustrious exam- 
ples of excellence, fashioned by the plastic power of a 
mother’s hand ; and that Bathsheba is another instance 
of the completion of that mysterious circle, in which the 
origin of our loss becomes the spring of our redemption. 


JEROBOAM ORDERING THE MAN OF GOD TO BE SEIZED. 

BY REV. J. GUERNSEY. 

Prophecy is fulfilled ! Wickedness and folly have 
triumphed! Jeroboam is king! On yonder eminence, 
in the midst of the newly-built city of Penuel, and so 
overlooking it as to command an extended view of sur- 
rounding scenery, stands a palace of imposing structure 
and gorgeous richness, lifting its numerous towers heaven- 
ward, as if in token of dependence upon the throne of 
thrones and the King of kings. Golden symbols of 
kingly greatness and kingly power greet the eye of the 
prosperous, but usurping monarch. So greatly and so 
suddenly has his position in life changed, that he almost 
doubts the reality of what is revealed to his own vision 
and consciousness. He- is wellnigh constrained to believe 
that it is all a dream. Yet-, a dream it is not. He is a 
king ! The goal of his desires is now attained. He has 
reached the highest pinnacle upon which his hopes have 
ever placed him. The wildest, the most glowing, and 
the most pleasing fancies of his imagination, are become 
realities. Contentment, surely, must now add her smile 
to the sum of his pleasures ; and so complete and crown 
his prosperity, that, for the future, he may give himself 
to the enjoyment of royal quiet and royal rest. Quiet ! 


JEROBOAM. 


185 


Rest ! These are not for him. The royal robe he wears 
is stolen. The throne he occupies, and the crown he 
claims, belong to another. He is accomplishing the pur- 
poses of Heaven, revealed by prophetic foresight; but 
he is, nevertheless, fully conscious, that the spirit in 
which he has sought and gained the kingdom is a 
usurper’s spirit. Troubled by a consciousness of the 
guilt involved in such a spirit, the newly-crowned mon- 
arch sits not easily in his royal seat. Whether he lies 
down or rises up, his soul is constantly haunted with the 
fear that treachery is about to show her unwelcome vis- 
age ; that, by some sudden and unlooked-for stroke, she 
will hurl him from his place of honor. So thoroughly are 
his suspicions aroused, that even the familiar sounds 
brought to his ears, by the rushing of waters and the 
wafting of winds, seldom fail to awaken in his mind 
thoughts of departing honors and fading glories. Such 
thoughts press upon him with peculiar force, in connec- 
tion with a remembrance of the religious customs and 
associations of those over whom he reigns. He reasons 
thus with himself : “If these people go up to Jerusalem, 
to celebrate their feasts and offer their sacrifices ; if they 
mingle with their brethren there, of the tribe of Judah; 
if they behold the Temple, standing in its august grand- 
eur and unequalled magnificence, an abiding monument 
of the power, the liberality, and the piety of the house of 
David ; if their minds are thus made to revert to victo- 
ries won and deliverances experienced, while the sceptre 
of that house was over them ; they will repent of their 
defection, and turn again to Rehoboam with proffers of 


i«* 


186 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


new allegiance. If I would retain the power I wield, 
therefore,— if I would keep the honors I wear, — I must 
devise some expedient, by which to avoid these dangerous 
influences.” His plan is soon formed. With the history 
of a people before him, whose idolatry has previously 
brought upon them punishment and rebuke, he provides 
two golden calves, and presents them, saying: “ It is too 
much for you to go up to Jerusalem to worship. Your 
feasts may be as appropriately observed, and your sacri- 
fices as acceptably offered, without a journey so long and 
toilsome. In these images, 0 Israel, behold thy gods, 
which brought thee up out of the land of Egypt.” What 
a [spectacle ! A people who have witnessed the most 
glorious displays of divine power, and who ought to 
have the most exalted conceptions of the. divine dignity 
and glory, called by their sovereign to recognize their 
God in golden images, whose original belongs to the brute 
creation ! 

In a. city of patriarchal memory, perhaps on the 
very spot, where, in former days, a weary pilgrim com- 
posed himself to rest, with the canopy above for his 
shelter, and the earth beneath for his couch, and where 
he beheld in a vision a ladder reaching to the heavens, 
with angels ascending and descending upon it, perhaps' 
on that very spot, stands a temple with its altar, devoted 
to the worship to be addressed to the meagre and de- 
grading representative of the Deity, which kingly wick- 
edness has devised. Thither the people aro gathering, 
for the observance of -a feast ordained by their sovereign. 
The king is there, in his new-found greatness, to receive 


JEROBOAM. 


18T 


the homage of the assembled hosts, and to mingle his 
worship with theirs. The temple-arches resound with 
songs of rejoicing. Gladsome voices reach the listener’s 
ear from every quarter. These people must have for- 
gotten the deliverance from Egypt, the manna of the 
wilderness, and the wondrous spectacle of Sinai, else 
surely they would not have so readily consented to relin- 
quish the Temple, with which their earliest recollections 
are associated, and to absent themselves from its conse- 
crated altar, for the sake of the senseless and forbidden 
service that has now called them together. But lo ! the 
songs have ceased. The feasting is' suspended. The 
voice of mirth is silent. Yonder, in front of the entire 
assembly, is the king. Slowly, and with measured tread, 
he moves toward the altar ; purposing in his own person, 
and by his own act, to give sanction and authority to the 
worship, he has introduced. The remembrance of other 
days and of other scenes has not so far vanished, that 
there is not, in that vast company, many a frame con- 
vulsed by ■ an involuntary shudder, as the smoke of in- 
cense is about to ascend from the altar of sacrifice. . 

But now a stranger is seen in the midst of the crowd. 
His garb is that of a prophet. His countenance is one 
full of character. Its workings indicate, that it is an 
errand of no ordinary import which brings him among 
the worshippers. He deigns not to stop for one moment 
in his course. Yielding to his look of determination and 
earnestness, the crowd parts before him. Not a word 
falls from his lips ; but on, straight on, he goes, until 
now he has nearly arrived at the altar. He stops, and 


188 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


silently regards the scene before and around him. A 
stillness, like that of the tomb, reigns over all. The 
king is too much occupied to have noticed the stranger’s 
approach. But now he starts, as if some convulsion had 
seized him. “ The man of God ” the stranger is none 
other — “the man of God” speaks. The words that 
fall upon the royal ear are words of prophetic evil. In 
their prospective fulfilment, the king sees before him a 
falling throne, and a crown transferred to another ; to- 
gether with obscurity, or death, as the probable reward 
of his guilt. Enraged at the thought of such a disap- 
pointment of his hopes, and such an ending to his dreams, 
he rashly, and with the quickness of thought, puts forth 
his hand from the altar, and stretches it toward the 
heaven-commissioned man, who stands fearless before him, 
saying, “ Lay hold on him.” But, look! That arm, 
but a moment ago under the most perfect control, is as 
rigid as though it had been hewn from a block of stone ! 
Those muscles, just now full and elastic, are immovable 
and withered ! Those veins, so recently swelled by the 
full flow of life’s vital fluid, are shrunken and dry! It 
is a withered arm that we see ; withered by a frown un- 
seen ; withered by a word unheard. Its royal owner 
essays to draw it back ; but it is there. It is there, 
rigid and withered. What paleness overspreads his 
countenance ! What fear fills his heart ! What trembling 
agitates his frame ! 

In his calamity, so unexpected and severe, whither 
does he turn for aid ? Is his trust in the image he has 
set up, as the representative of Jehovah? Are his 


JEROBOAM. 


189 


supplications addressed to that? Not at all. To the 
man of God he looks for relief. King as he is, much as 
he has prided himself on his kingly power, he is con- 
strained, in time of trouble, to become a suppliant before 
one, whom, a moment before, he would have employed 
his prerogative and power to crush. 

Besought by the king to intercede for the restoration 
of the withered member, “ the* man of God ” consents. 
He assumes at once the attitude of prayer. The 
people gather more closely around, that they may wit- 
ness the result. The king before him, with arm out- 
stretched and stiff, and the multitude standing around, the 
prophet begins to lift the voice of prayer. He proceeds, 
and soon the people observe the skin to be regaining its 
wonted complexion ; the muscles to be . assuming their 
natural elasticity ; the veins and flesh to be resuming 
their former freshness and fulness. u The man of God” 
ceases to speak. The afflicted member isrestored. . 

Reader, learn that only right gives conscious security ; 
that calamity humbles the proudest ; and, more than all, 
learn the power — the power of a praying man ! 


ELIJAH FED BY THE RAVENS. 

BY REV. W. C. CHILD. 

In every age of the world God has raised up men for 
peculiar emergencies, and has specially qualified them 
for their duties. When the influence of sin has become 
so great that the enemies of religion have been disposed 
to exult over the down-trodden cause of truth and right- 
eousness, the arm of the Most High has unexpectedly 
spoiled their triumph, through some human instrumental- 
ity which he has employed to scatter their forces, and 
bring their power to naught. 

Such an instrumentality was Elijah. 

Ahab, king of Israel, we are told, “ did evil in the 
sight of the Lord, above all that were before him.” He 
devoted himself to idolatry, and set an iniquitous exam- 
ple, which his people were not slow to follow. Such 
conduct displeased the Lord, and he resolved to punish 
this idolatrous king and nation. He sent his servant 
•Elisha, the Tishbite, to Ahab, with this message : “ As 
the Lord God of Israel liveth, before whom I stand, there 
shall not be dew nor rain these years, but according to 
my word.” Ahab must have understood the reason why 
this declaration was made ; and without doubt was exas- 
perated against the prophet for charging him with crimes 
deserving of such signal punishment. 




W. L.Ormshy, New York 




















ELIJAH FED BY THE RAVENS. 


191 


To avert the wrath of the king, it may he, or to be 
away from, the power of temptation, and from the sight 
of the sufferings and miseries of famine, Elijah retired 
to the brook Cherith, according to the command of the 
Lord, where he Was to he fed by the ravens, and to 
obtain his drink from the stream that flowed along at 
his feet. 

Behold the man of God in this solitary spot. Removed 
from all human intercourse, he has ample opportunity to 
commune with his own heart, with nature, and with God. 
He has come here, not on account of any thing desirable 
in the locality, or in his manner of living, but simply in 
obedience to the divine command. It is enough for him 
to know that the Master whom he serves has directed 
his footsteps hither ; and in such circumstances, with all 
its desolation and solitude, it is the most enchanting 
place on earth to him. Though deprived of the society 
of friends, he is not alone. God has come with him, and 
has taken up his abode here also. With such companion- 
ship, he is at rest, and joy and gladness fill his soul. 

Such a seclusion from the world as the prophet en- 
joyed, is often most salutary in its influence upon the 
mind and character. It is favorable to contemplation 
and to self-communion. We should not always be in the 
crowd, or on the busy theatre of life. There are times 
when the soul needs a temporary annihilation of earthly 
influences, and an oblivion of worldly cares. It should 
sometimes be absorbed with itself in connection with that 
Being to whom it sustains the most intimate of relations, 
and whose presence fills every place. And what society 


192 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


can we seek or find, which, if enjoyed in the spirit of it, 
is so productive of happiness ns the .society of God ? 
The prophet Elijah must have heard the summons to go 
to Cherith gladly, on account of the fact that duty and 
pleasure would, in this case, peculiarly coincide ; and 
his own will, and the will of God, would be the same. 
And after he had been treated with contempt by those 
to whom his message had been addressed, and he had 
become sick at heart with seeing the idolatries of Israel, 
he must have rejoiced that he could retire to some spot 
where his eyes and his ears would no longer be offended 
by vain oblations, and he could worship the true God, in 
spirit and in truth. 

Yiew the prophet in his- retirement. The purling 
brook flows gently at his feet, soothing his spirit to repose, 
and hushing even the .thoughts he is disposed to cher- 
ish, touching the world he has left.' Sheltered beneath 
some overhanging rock from the heat of a scorching sun, 
he sits in the posture -of reflection, or kneejs beside his 
moss-covered seat in prayer. He slakes his thirst with 
the waters that murmur sweetly near him, and looks up 
to God with confidence for his food, knowing that he 
shall be Sustained by the agencies which his Master has 
appointed. How entire and unfaltering is his trust in 
the promise of Jehovah ! He feels that he who placed 
him there will not leave him to perish, notwithstanding 
the destitution that may soon prevail on every side 
around him. Eor him it is the same as if copious show- 
.ers descended from heaven, and the teeming harvest 
crowned with success the labors of the husbandman ! 


ELIJAH FED BY THE HAVENS. 


193 


The Disposer of all events is his Master, and his presence 
is the prophet’s hiding-place ! 

Not long does he wait, before his firm expectations are 
fulfilled. Behold, as the pains of hunger begin to be 
felt, he sees flying towards him the birds which Heaven 
has commissioned to supply him with food. They place 
it near him, and take their leave. With a grateful heart 
he partakes of it, as the provision which God has made 
for him ; and trusts the same kind hand for the future. 
Day follows day. Every morning and evening these 
constant almoners of Jehovah’s bounty come and minis- 
ter to his returning necessities. Thus he sees a new 
illustration of the faithfulness of God, and learns to 
trust him, if possible, with a firmer confidence. 

This incident is one of a most interesting and sublime 
character. It affords us a striking example of strong 
faith ; and such faith is always sublime. Elijah has 
retired, unsolicitous about himself, from his enemies, 
expecting that the judgments which he has denounced 
against them, will soon be fulfilled. He himself would 
be involved with them in the same calamity, were it not 
for the power of God, exerted miraculously on his behalf. 
He has come, expecting to be supplied with food in a 
new and unprecedented manner, never fearing for a 
moment the bitterness of disappointment. Here is an 
instance of simple faith ! He feels that though multi- 
tudes may perish around him, and no human power may 
have the means of supplying his wants, his Master can 
make the birds of the air his agents, and by them nourish 
and sustain him, even amid the wilds of his solitude ! 


17 


194 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


Trustful prophet ! Thou didst not wait in vain, even 
though every brother and friend was far away from thee ! 
God was thy Provider, and most bountifully did he sup- 
ply thy wants ! 

Behold here the power of God ! When he has a pur- 
pose to accomplish, it is not necessary to employ a. human 
agency. He can communicate his will, in some mysteri- 
ous manner, to the inferior orders of the creation, as he 
did iD this instance to the ravens, and they will hasten 
to obey him. The birds that daily fed Elijah, did not 
know that they were controlled by that mind that governs 
the universe, and that they were performing a most im- 
portant task. But, impelled by some irresistible power, 
they went, each morning and evening, on their errand 
of mercy, and carried food to preserve the life of the 
prophet. It had been easy for God to have supported 
Elijah as he did the Israelites, when in the desert, by 
manna sent down from heaven ; but to show how absolute 
and illimitable is his power, and to invite confidence, in 
even the most inauspicious circumstances, he gave the 
life of his servant in charge to the birds of the air. So 
that, though famine might destroy its multitudes, and 
every vestige of verdure might disappear from the face 
of the earth, and every spring of water might be dried 
up, Elijah was provided for by him whose resources are 
as inexhaustible as his nature. 

The power of God on the one hand, and the faith of 
Elijah on the other, are most intimately connected. It 
was because the prophet knew that God was omnipotent, 
that he was so ready to trust himself to the divine control. 


ELIJAH FED BY THE RAVENS. 


195 


Even the seemingly adverse position in which he was 
placed, had nothing in it to destroy his confidence. 
There was a golden chain which bound him to the throne 
of God, not one link of which could be broken, because it 
was made by the Power in which he trusted. Had there 
been in his mind a feeling of distrust as to the ability of 
God to do what he had promised, Elijah would have 
turned towards Cherith without a single feeling of pleas- 
ure or security. 

Such an incident as this is calculated to encourage 
faith, and to excite the soul to obedience. Whatever 
may be the course which the mass of men pursue, it is 
always safe to serve God. The divine direction should 
be followed, wheresoever it may lead us. Remembering 
that all events are subject to the control of a superintend- 
ing Providence, and that he can make light arise from 
darkness, we should subordinate, like Elijah, our affec- 
tions and our services to his most holy and perfect will. 


ELIJAH HARRIET) UP INTO HEAVEN, IN THE PRESENCE OF 
ELISHA. 

BY REV. N. L. FROTHINGHAM, D.D. 


Few scenes in the Scriptures of the Old Testament 
offer a nobler subject for the pencil of the artist than the 
parting of these prophets of Israel. But, in painting it, 
I should not copy the picture that the reader has before 
him. The design is too venturous. It attempts more 
than colors can give. It leaves too little to the imagina- 
tion. It connects itself too much with the blaze of effect, 
and too scantily with moral impressions. I would choose 
an earlier point of time, and something like what I will 
try in a few words to describe. 

The holy men have just crossed the river, which is 
flowing full in sight. At a distance, on the further banks 
of the stream, the rising grounds are covered with a 
crowd of persons, “ the sons of the prophets , 1 ” who are 
eagerly expecting the occurrence of some astonishing 
event. A heavy and menacing sky corresponds well 
with the solemn figures of the two principal characters. 
But there is a spot in its dark ground, just opening to 
give passage to the coming whirlwind, just reddening 
at the approach of the fiery car that is to convey 
one of them far beyond all mortal sight. The mantle 


ELIJAH AND ELISHA. 


197 


of Elijah, with which he had a few moments before 
smitten asunder the waters of the Jordan, hangs loosely 
about his form, as if ready to drop and be bequeathed to 
his successor. He looks like a superior being, as he is 
now so near to his glory ; while his younger companion, 
who has followed him like a faithful servant from place 
to place, refusing ever to be separated from him, is await- 
ing with the utmost humility the last expressions of his 
will. 

In reading the story, one almost sees it thus portrayed ; 
so perfectly descriptive are' all the representations of the 
Bible, — not merely narrated to the understanding, but 
actually delineated to the eye. Underneath the picture 
thus composed, there should be an inscription. This 
W'ould be in imitation of an old custom. We find such an 
one under the engravings of Leonardo da Vinci’s Last 
Supper : u Amen, dico vobis, quia unus vestrum me tra- 
diturus est.” The inscription here should be: “ Elijah 
said unto Elisha, Ask now what I shall do for thee, before 
I be taken away from thee. And Elisha said, I pray 
thee, let a double portion of thy spirit be upon me.” 
What a large offer ! What a noble and disinterested 
reply ! I will enter into a few meditations upon them 
both ; and the readers of this little volume will follow me 
as far as they feel inclined. 

The first of these meditations is turned towards the 
sacredness that was attached, in early times, to the part- 
ing benediction of friends ; especially of those who, from 
their office, their age, their approaching death, or any 
circumstances of peculiar interest, seemed entitled to 


17 * 


198 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


utter it with more than usual solemnity. It was thought 
to carry with it an efficacy to produce the good which it 
pronounced ; and, in some cases, to he endowed with 
even a prophetic power. The mother of Jacob was so 
anxious that he should receive the blessing of his father, 
now drawing towards the close of life, that she undertook 
a fraud for the obtaining of it ; as if the divine favor 
could be transferred by the means of a base artifice. 
Jacob himself called his children round his death-bed, not 
only to express to them his last kind wishes, but to signify 
what should befall them “ in the last days.” The same 
patriarch, wdien he wrestled towards daybreak with the 
mysterious stranger, would not let him go until he blessed 
him. Moses, when about to withdraw from the people 
whom he had brought out of bondage, did not retire to 
the top of the mountain, from which he was no more to 
come down, till he had first published from its foot his 
benediction upon the tribes ; and it was a benediction 
that indicated the prophet as well as the father of his 
nation. 

The holy regard in which bequests of this kind were 
held, had its origin in the most natural of feelings ; such 
as can never be extinguished, and will always find suit- 
able forms of displaying themselves. There is something 
still sacred in the last words and gifts of a friend. The 
gifts are retained, as stamped with a new value that does 
not belong intrinsically to themselves ; and the words are 
treasured up, out of all reach of waste or misfortune, in 
a loving remembrance. We no longer imagine that 
there is any supernatural influence connected with either 


ELIJAH AND ELISHA. 


199 


of them ; but they are both hallowed by a certain religion 
of all warm-hearted and grateful natures. If there is no 
power in what is given, to communicate the favor of the 
Divine Providence, there is one at least to remind us of 
endeavoring to deserve it. If there is no prophecy in 
what is spoken, there is something that seems not of this 
world, when they who speak it are just ceasing to be mortal. 
The language of benediction appears as appropriate now 
as it ever did, to those who are departing from their 
friends, whether for a season or for ever. It may be that 
there shall be no difference between the two. The sep- 
arated may not meet again. The leave-taking, that was 
meant to be temporary, may prove to be final. The 
voice that utters the present farewell, may be heard no 
more. The last salutation of common friendliness is in 
the form of a blessing. The last office of the righteous, 
whose days are ending, they would love to make a bless- 
ing. Happy are they, in whom these expressions of good- 
will were never contradicted by bitter speeches or injur- 
ious deeds. Happy they, whose living actions, and not 
only their dying breath, have been occupied and spent in 
them. We surely would do nothing else but good, to 
those whom we loved and are leaving behind. There is 
no room for the question, What shall I receive, and what 
shall be done for me? — when the whole earth can supply 
only a grave. Selfishness would appear with more than 
its natural deformity, in the hour when every thing is to 
be given up. Even the indifferent will study then how 
to direct the influence that they may yet retain, how to 
distribute the possessions that are ceasing to be any 


200 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


longer their' own, so as to do the greatest service. The 
offended forgive. The inflexible relent. The injurious 
would make reparation. They who had seemed to have 
no time for any thing but their personal gratification, 
would use the little time that is now left in the spirit of 
justice, considerateness, and love. What, then, would be 
the disposition of a prophet of the Most High, gifted as 
Elijah was, towards one who had followed him through all 
his fortunes, with the obedience of a disciple and the 
affection of a son ? 

This brings me to another meditation. How exceed- 
ingly broad was the offer he made him, limited to nothing 
that was within the scope of his ability ! He appears to 
have been without partner, or kindred, or child. He was 
alone in the world, in which he was no longer to dwell. 
There was no one for him to remember, but the devoted 
man who stood before him. He told him to choose, 
among all the blessings that he could conceive of, which 
he would have. “ Ask,” he said, “ whatever is in thy 
heart to have done for thee.” He must have been well 
assured that there was nothing unworthy in that heart, or 
he would not have trusted its wishes so far. How many 
of us would sustain well such a test of our inclinations ? 
What if a being, possessing as we believed preternatural 
powers, should address to us a like invitation ? Would it 
not be a snare to us, and the most dangerous of all 
snares ? Would not all the passions solicit us by turns, 
and should we not hesitate from embarrassment as to 
which we should prefer ? Even the moderate and self- 
governed might feel the love of glory, or of riches, 


ELIJAH AND ELISHA. 


201 


struggling in their minds ; and thus be induced to seek 
after gifts, of which God had spared them hitherto the 
care or the temptation. One person is so anxious to be 
relieved from merely physical disadvantages, that he 
would make this the subject of his petition. The blind 
son of Timseus, in the Gospel history, was bidden by 
Christ to name his request, whatever it might be. “ What 
wilt thou that I should do unto thee ? ” And the man 
made answer, “ Lord, that I might receive my sight.” 
This was all he thought of ; this was all he asked of him 
who held a delegated power from heaven in his hands, 
and spoke the words of eternal life. And there are 
many sons of Timaeus in the world, who, if addressed in 
a similar manner, would plead to be delivered from some 
bodily defect, or infirmity, or pain. The disordered 
would be set at ease ; the helpless and secluded would 
be restored to the cheerful light, and the active habits of 
the world ; the withered and bowed down would be 
renewed in the strength of their young days. Others, 
with a loftier ambition, would demand some station in 
which every glittering privilege should be combined. Eli- 
sha might have looked for promotion of this kind, if he 
had coveted it, from his retiring master. “ Wilt thou be 
spoken for to the king, or to the captain of the host ? ” 
was his own offer afterwards to one whose favors he 
wished to repay. Now was an opportunity for himself, 
without having recourse to prince or chief, of naming 
the eminence that he would be advanced to. Few could 
be trusted with so perilous a choice. See men, for the 
sake of mere preferment, leaving no artifice untried, no 


202 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


principle fixed that it is decent to show flexible, and 
subjecting all their powers to a laborious slavery. But 
thus far they carry an air of nobleness with them, per- 
haps. See them again, possessed as with an evil spirit 
of possessing ; not satisfied with the slow gains of sober 
industry, but “ making haste to be rich,” through des- 
perate adventurousness or open dishonor. What would 
be the election that such as these would make, if the 
proffer of the wonder-working Elijah were set before 
them ? 

There are others, less aspiring but not less intent. 
They are willing to leave high stations to such as care to 
climb to them ; they feel nothing of the generous appe- 
tite for praise ; they love to squander, rather than to get 
or keep. Pleasure is the aim of their lives ; and they 
are ready to sacrifice all the great ends of living to that. 
What a fearful opportunity would an invitation like the 
prophet’s lay open to the passion and voluptuousness of 
their hearts ! Give me, they would say, the power of 
transporting myself from place to place with the speed 
and the secrecy of thought. Fill my senses with all the 
objects that can minister to their delight. Let me have 
no occupation but enjoyment ; no thought but of what 
new. excitement shall succeed to the last. Crown me 
with the flowers of a perpetual spring. Let me dwell 
in enchanted circles of festivity. Let my will be able 
to turn into a reality whatever sensual good my fancy can 
devise. 

Fools ! another would say, who is of a gloomier tem- 
perament but an equal perverseness. You are asking 


ELIJAH AND ELISHA. 


203 


for what will only the sooner destroy you. Why abridge 
in consuming follies the years of which nature accords 
but so few ? Where will be all that you are seeking 
after, in the day of a hastened death ? And what will it 
all be in the languid hours of satiety and. repentance ? 
Man of God, if you can indeed impart what you will, 
bestow upon me that perpetual duration which you your- 
self are going to inherit. Let me have it here, on the 
ground that I feel firm to my tread ; below this thick 
cloud and blazing storm that are going to veil you mys- 
teriously from my sight. I do not ask for the abodes 
that religious faith encourages poor mortals to hope for 
beyond the sky. I have never seen any thing like them. 
I do not know what they are. Give me a perpetual life 
among these perishing things ; for I would not perish 
like them. Make me proof against fatal accidents. 
Teach me to compound the immortal drink, after which 
men have longed. Show me the mystic well, that 
old traditions have described ; whose waters one may put 
to his lips and never afterwards need taste of death. 
Then I could bear patiently the evils, that must in the 
revolutions of time give place to something better ; and 
I could at leisure, and without dismay, enjoy the agree- 
able successions that are sure of being renewed. 

I will not stop to expose the mad mistake that would 
be involved in such a choice ; a choice, that through fear 
of death would forfeit all true companionship in life, and 
for the sake of a continued and weary residence in a 
scene of imperfection would abandon the highest hopes 
of the soul. 


204 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


The picture, with its motto, claims one meditation 
more. It relates to the very different election that was 
made by Elisha. He answered : “ I pray thee, let a 
double portion of thy spirit be upon me.” He asked for 
a gift that would dwell in his own mind, and not in mere 
circumstances. He asked for a spiritual good. He 
asked for something that would connect him with the 
approbation of God, and the welfare of mankind. More 
and more of the disposition to do and bear his Maker’s 
will. More earnestness and loftiness of purpose. More 
ability against the enemies of truth and righteousness. 
More confidence in the great Being, who gives strength, 
and courage, and victory. Not endowments of the body, 
but healthiness of the soul. Not wealth, or repute, or 
a high seat, or a round of indulgences ; but a willingness 
to forego them all, if it should be necessary, for what is 
far above them all, — an elevated resolution and desert. 
Not a prolonged life, but an active and useful one. 
What had he to do now with the motives of vulgar ambition, 
or the feelings of ordinary men, even if he had ever been 
vain enough to cherish them ? While he was yet speak- 
ing, the voice of the storm was heard. The burning 
chariot was rolling along on the path of the winds. His 
master was caught away from him. He was left alone. 
But he had obtained what he asked, and was satisfied. 
His worldly circumstances were no better than they were 
before. The plain of the Jordan was the same waste 
spot that it had always been. But he was to be 
wrapped in the prophet’s mantle. He was to be ani- 


ELIJAH AND ELISHA. 


205 


mated with the prophet’s fire. These were enough for him. 
He went back on his way rejoicing. 

There will come a* time, when all the distinctions and 
delights of this world will seem as vain to us as they did 
to him. What should any one desire so earnestly, as to 
be found clothed, in that hour of desertion, with the cour- 
age and hope of the just ? 


18 


THE SHUNAMITE’S SON RESTORED TO LIFE, ON THE PRAYER 
OF ELISHA. 


BY REV. THOMASJH. CLARK. 

“And when the child was grown, it fell on a day, 
that he went out to his father to the reapers. And he 
said unto his father, My head, my head ! And he 
said to a lad, Carry him to his mother. And when 
he had taken him, and brought him to his mother, he 
sat on her knees till noon, and then died. And she 
went up, and laid him on the bed of. the man of God, 
and shut the door upon him, and went out.... So she 
went, and came unto the man of God to Mount Car- 
mel. And it came to pass, when the man of God saw 
her afar off, that he said to Gehazi his servant, Behold, 
yonder is that Shunamite ; run now, I pray thee, to 
meet her ; and say unto her, Is it well with thee ? is it 
well with thy husband ? is it well with the child ? And 
she answered, It is well. And when she came to the 
man of God, to the hill, she caught him by the feet : but 
Gehazi came near to thrust her away. And the man of 
God said, Let her alone ; for her soul is vexed within 
her ; and the Lord hath hid it from me, and hath not 
told me. Then she said, Did I desire a son of my lord ? 
Did I not say, Do not deceive me ? Then he said to 
Gehazi, Gird up thy loins, and take my staff in thine 


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THE SHUN AMITE’S SON. 


207 


hand, and go thy way : If thou meet any man, salute 
him not ; and if any salute thee, answer him not again : 
and lay my staff upon the face of the child. And the 
mother of the child said, As the Lord liveth, and as thy 
soul liveth, I will not leave thee. And he arose, and 
followed her. And Gehazi passed on before them, and 
laid the staff upon the face of the child ; but there was 
neither voice nor hearing : wherefore he went again 
to meet him, and told him, saying, The child is not 
awaked. And when Elisha was come into the house, 
behold, the child was dead, and laid upon his bed. 
He went in therefore, and shut the door upon them 
twain, and prayed unto the Lord. And he went up, 
and lay upon the child, and put his mouth upon his 
mouth, and his eyes upon his eyes, and his hands upon 
his hands ; and he stretched himself upon the child, 
and the flesh of the child waxed warm. Then he re- 
turned, and walked in the house to and fro ; and went up, 
and stretched himself upon him ; and the child sneezed 
seven times, and the child opened his eyes. And he 
called Gehazi, and said, Call this Shunamite. So he 
called her. And when she was come in unto him, he 
said, Take up thy son. Then she went in, and fell at his 
feet, and bowed herself to the ground, and took up her 
son, and went out.” 

No elaborate description could heighten the effect of 
this simple narrative. Any attempt to describe the inci- 
dents in other language than that employed by the sa- 
cred penman, would seem to be presumptuous. 

Taking, therefore, as the basis of our reflections, the 


208 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


answer of the Shunamite woman to the prophet’s inquiry, 
“ Is it well with the child ? ” we shall endeavor to sug- 
gest thoughts of comfort to those who,, like her, have 
been bereaved of their children; but, unlike her, have 
not seen them called back to life by miraculous inter- 
vention. 

It appears to be a violation of the laws of nature, that 
the young Should die. Why was the tree allowed to bud 
and to blossom, if it was destined to bear no fruit ? Why 
is it that just at the moment when such noble affections 
and transcendent powers are beginning to be developed, 
— > and it is the richly-gifted who are most often the early- 
called, — the child is laid in the grave? The young 
sapling in the forest does not. die ; the sun does not go 
down, until it has completed its appointed season ; the 
course of the rivulet is not stayed till, after all its wan- 
derings through meadow and thicket, it empties itself 
into the ocean. Even the beast and the bird, unless 
preyed upon by man, usually fill up the measure of their 
days.- But, of all born of woman, the larger proportion 
are allowed only a single, hurried glance at the beauties 
of the world, and then they are taken away to return no 
more for ever. Just at the moment when the .parent’s 
hopes are 'highest,- and our hearts are knit to -the hearts 
of our little ones, by the strongest ties, we are summoned 
to return the treasure to God who gave it. 

But is the removal of the young from earth so dark 
and inscrutable a providence as at first it appears to be ? 
If this world were the only sphere of existence ; or if the 
child at death passed from a superior- to an inferior state 


the shun amite’s son. 


209 


of being, we might well ask, in painful wonder, why this 
untimely blasting of the tender plant ? Were these chil- 
dren born only that they might die ? 

Assuming, however, as an unquestionable fact, that all 
who are thus early taken away, pass at once into the 
realms of the blessed, where “ their angels do always 
behold the face of their Father who is in heaven,” let us 
consider in what respects the child is a gainer by this 
change. 

We take it for granted that the young enter the future 
world as children, and not with the ripened faculties and 
matured powers with which the aged servant of God 
passes from his long life of conflict and trial to his eternal 
rest. That the redeemed begin their heavenly life with 
different degrees of preparation, varying according to the 
amount of knowledge acquired and discipline experienced 
in this world, cannot be doubted. “ One star differeth 
from another star in glory.” We do not suppose that 
the child immediately takes the same elevated rank, or 
enjoys the same degree of happiness, or enters upon the 
same high order of duties, with those who “ through 
much tribulation ” have attained a seat in heaven. But 
how soon he may reach the place of eminence which is 
secured to another only by fourscore years’ experience of 
earthly trial and duty, we cannot tell. In the pure and 
invigorating atmosphere of heaven, drawing nourishment 
from the river of life, ministered to by angelic hands, 
how surely and how speedily must the little scion, trans- 
planted from this wilderness into so choice a garden, 
grow up to. perfection ! Short must be the immature 


210 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


and tender springrtime ; rich and glorious the clustering 
harvest. In a year, or a month, as we measure time, 
and the little one who left the world so -feeble in all his 
powers, knowing so little, may have outstripped the 
wisest and the holiest of us all. The knowledge that we 
attain only by a slow and laborious, process of induction, 
comes to, him by spiritual intuition. The moral elevation, 
the holiness that we are taught only by repeated lessons 
of trial and sorrow, he reaches at a bound. • Our training 
is slow and painful ; ' his is quick and joyous. It is only 
the happy end which reconciles us to. the wearisome and 
difficult means. We toil with labor and heavy pantin gs 
towards the mountain-top ; he springs to the summit, 
rejoicing in his flight. Who that has seen the liberated 
spirit of his child shake off the clogs of mortality, and 
exchange darkness for light, feebleness for strength, 'the 
corruptible for the incorruptible, would wish that the 
departed should be again encumbered with the infirmities 
of humanity ? Rejoice, ye whose little ones are at rest. 
Count it a distinguished blessing that you are so honored 
as to have one of your own offspring admitted into the 
palace of God, and allowed to serve before him. If you 
love your child, rejoice that so soon he is folded in the 
arms of Jesus. Suffer him to go, without a murmur, 
without, a wish to have it otherwise. Christ has called 
him, and it is & call of love. “ He gathers the lambs 
into his bosom,” and there they are safe. 

No sadder spectacle is ever seen than that presented 
by the process of debasement which too often attends the 
progress of childhood ‘towards maturity. The generous 


THE SHUNAMITE’S SO N. 


211 


impulses of. youth one by one extinguished; the foulness 
of corruption gradually obscuring the brightness of the 
soul ; the* rapid kindling of fiery passions ; the whole 
^character thoroughly depraved by the poisonous influ- 
ences of sin ; — what is the sorrow of laying our children 
in the grave, confident as we are that their spirits are 
in Paradise, compared with the lingering torture of 
watching this falling away into spiritual death ? And if, 
by the grace of God, they are at last brought to repent- 
ance and a better mind, it can be only by resolute strug- 
gling against deep-rooted corruption, by unremitted and 
painful watchfulness ; by fightings within, which well- 
nigh rend the soul ; by prayers, and tears, and self- 
denials, that they can enter the kingdom of God. Life 
jnust be a constant battle ; fears within, foes without, 
light struggle g with darkness, truth with error, holiness 
with sin. This must be the history of their mortal 
pilgrimage. 

How different their experience, in whom, by the act 
of death, the germ of evil is destroyed for ever. In 
Christ they have the victory, without being called per- 
sonally to do battle for the crown. They become at once 
the children of the second Adam, and partakers of his 
divine excellence. They give back the reflection of his 
moral image, in all its brightness and distinctness, from 
the pure and polished surface of unstained souls. They 
receive the truth without that refraction by which its 
course is here intercepted, passing as it must through 
a misty and clouded atmosphere. “ They receive it in 


212 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


the love of it, and it does them good, as it doth the up- 
right in heart.” Where we must creep, they can run ; 
where we must pause, doubtingly and fearfully, to ask 
the way, they can hasten on, knowing the path appointed 
them. 

Is it not enough to reconcile us to their loss, that, with 
the extinction of their mortal life, the seeds of corruption 
also die ? Is it not a selfish sorrow, that would deprive 
them 6f this immeasurable gain ? You may now think 
of your child, as surely, steadily, rapidly advancing in 
wisdom, love, holiness, energy, and every thing which is 
angelic. Your fears are all at an end, and your own 
awful responsibility has ceased. Abler hands than yours 
shall train that child ; beings, more faithful than you, 
shall watch its progress to maturity. 

There is another consideration which ma^ reconcile us 
to the early removal of those we love. “ Through fear of 
death,” those who are spared to fill up the measure of 
their days, “ are kept all their lifetime subject to bond- 
age.” Here and there a Christian may be found, so 
ripened in grace, and so weary of earthly trial, as to 
be anxious to depart and be with Christ. But yet 
there is a natural shrinking from the terrors of death, 
which makes us listen with fear and trembling for the 
sound of his approaching footstep. The lassitude of 
disease, by a merciful ordering of Providence, often 
diminishes our susceptibility to this fear ; and, in certain 
cases, the power of a mighty faith may enable us to 
get the victory over it ; but still it makes a part of our 


THE SHUNAMITE’S SON. 218 

inheritance, and is inwrought into the very constitu- 
tion of our nature. “We die a thousand deaths in 
fearing one,” 

Now, the child is taken from the earth before he has 
learned to experience this fear. He is laid upon his 
little couch ; and after a . few days of weariness and 
suffering, there comes oyer his tired frame a feeling of 
relief and peace. As though sinking to his wonted eve- 
ning slumber, the soul relapses into a momentary insen- 
sibility, and the burden is over. “ I would sleep,” was 
his last earthly thought ; and in an . instant he is in the 
arms of Jesus. The glory' that is now around him would 
have dazzled his mortal vision ; but with the eye of the 
spirit he can gaze upon the brightness, and not be 
blinded. He hears soft voices whispering, “ They shall 
hunger no more, neither thirst any more ; the sun shall 
not light on them, nor any heat. The Lamb which is 
on the throne, shall feed them, and shall lead them unto 
fountains of living waters ; and God shall wipe away all 
tears from their eyes.” Then there bursts forth a loud 
song, and thousands of thousands take up the strain, 
“ Blessing, and honor, , and glory, and power, be unto 
him that sitteth on the throne, and to the Lamb, for 
ever- and ever.” And he comprehends it all, feels it 
all ; for suddenly his childish faculties are strangely 
matured, and he. too takes his harp, and joins the chorus 
of the redeemed. 

0, whenever a soul is taken from the earth, washed 
in the blood of the Lamb, the melody of heaven becomes 
more sweet, and a new joy is wakened there. Why, 


214 


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then, should the hour of such a victory be greeted 
here only with sighs and tears ? Why should it be so 
hard for us to rejoice over the dead who die in the 
Lord? 

“ It is well with the child ” who sleeps in Jesus. Who 
would call him back ? 
















THE OVERTHROW OF THE ARMY OF SENNACHERIB, KING OF 
ASSYRIA. 

BY REV. RICHARD NEWTON. 

The transaction referred to above, is one of the most 
striking and instructive recorded in the sacred volume. 
How graphically it is sketched by the inspired writer ! 
The victorious march of the proud conqueror is minutely 
detailed, with “ all the pomp and circumstance of glo- 
rious war.” We almost see the onward progress of the 
mighty host, as we read, “ He is come to Aiath, he is 
passed to Migron ; at Michmash he hath laid up his 
carriages : they are gone over the passage ; they have 
taken up their lodging at Geba.” Isaiah 10 : 28, 29. 
How vividly is portrayed the terror inspired by the ad- 
vancing host ! u Hamah is afraid ; Gibeah of Saul is 
fled. Lift up thy voice, 0 daughter of Gallim: cause it 
to be heard unto Laish, 0 poor Anathoth ! ” Laish was 
a city in the extreme north of Palestine ; and when the 
inhabitants of the land are personified by a female in 
agitation and alarm, uttering a shriek, so shrill and 
piercing, that its prolonged notes reach even to its 
utmost borders, we have the liveliest representation of 
terror and dismay which could well be given. The 
prophet then represents the invading host as halting 


216 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


within sight of J erusalem ; while its haughty leader, 
exulting in the confident anticipation of a. speedy accom- 
plishment of all his designs against the holy city, “ shakes 
his hand against the mount of the daughter of Zion, the 
hill of Jerusalem.” Little did he imagine the fearful doom 
which, in that very hour of his triumph, hung all unseen 
over his ill-fated army. More than a quarter of a century 
before the host of Assyria had set their faces towards 
Judea, the pen of inspiration had thus foretold the disas- 
trous issue of their march: “ Behold, the Lord, the Lord 
of hosts, shall' lop the hough with terror; and the high 
ones of statute shall be hewn down, and" the haughty 
shall be humbled. And he shall cut down the thickets of 
the forests with iron, and Lebanon shall fall by a mighty 
one.” Is. 10: 83, 34. And when at length that 'host 
was seen marching along the very track which the 
prophet so long before had pointed out with surprising 
accuracy, the fearful catastrophe wrapped up in the figu- 
rative style of unfulfilled prophecy was speedily un- 
folded ; and the record left of it in the simple language 
of accomplished history is this : “ Then the angel of tho 
Lord went forth, and smote in the camp of the Assyrians 
a hundred and fourscore and five thousand ; and when 
they arose early in the morning, behold, they were all 
dead corpses.” Is. 37 : 36. 

What an illustration is here afforded of the operation 
of true faith, and of the safety of those who exercise it, 
even under circumstances of the most appalling danger ! 
When Sennacherib invaded Judea, the people of Israel 
were reduced to the lowest condition of weakness and 


OVERTHROW OF SENNACHERIB. 217 

misery. The ten tribes had already been carried captive. 
Not long before their captivity, Pekah, king of Israel, 
had destroyed one hundred and twenty thousand men of 
Judah. Two hundred thousand more had subsequently 
been carried captive to Samaria ; while Edom and Phi- 
listia together had wasted Judah in her southern borders. 
Like the traveller who had fallen among thieves, poor 
Judah was left “ stripped, wounded, and half dead.” 
How affectingly is her weakness set forth, when the 
proud captain of the invading host tauntingly offers “ to 
give Hezekiah two thousand horses, if he was able on his 
part to set riders upon them.” Such was Israel’s condi- 
tion of utter prostration, when the Assyrian army, over- 
powering in its numbers, and flushed with conquest, 
entered the land. How vain must opposition have 
seemed ! How hopeless must have appeared every 
thought of escape ! It seemed as if the feeble lamb 
must crouch, and tremble, and be crushed under the 
resistless paw of the rampant lion. And yet, the mon- 
arch of Israel opened not the gates of his capital to the 
victorious foe, nor sought mercy at his hands. But he 
turned in faith to the Lord, his God. He spread out his 
case before him. He told him of his own weakness, and 
breathed out all his fears. He told him of the strength 
and confidence of his adversary, and the blasphemy 
which he had uttered ; and he asked for help from 
Heaven. “ And Hezekiah prayed unto the Lord, and 
said, 0 Lord of hosts, God of Israel, that dwellest be- 
tween the cherubim, thou art the God, even thou alone, 
of all the kingdoms of the earth : thou hast made heaven 


19 


218 


SACKED TABLEAUX. 


and earth. Incline thine ear, 0 Lord, and hear ; open 
thine eyes, 0 Lord, and see ; and hear all the words of 
Sennacherib, which hath sent to reproach the living God. 
Now, therefore, 0 Lord our God, save us from his hand ; 
that all the kingdoms of the earth may know that thou 
art the Lord, even thou only.” And, having thus 
prayed, he waited in calm and quiet confidence for an 
answer to his prayer. Nor did he wait in vain. It was 
a noble faith which he reposed in the God of his fathers, 
and noble was the reward with which God blessed and 
crowned it. Scarce was his prayer concluded, ere he 
received from God, by the hands of Isaiah the prophet, 
this cheering answer : “ Thus saith the Lord concerning 
the king of Assyria, He shall not come into this city, nor 
shoot an arrow there, nor come before it with shields, nor 
cast a bank against it. For I will defend this city to 
save it, for mine own sake, and for my servant David’s 
sake.” The Assyrian warriors lay down to rest that 
night as usual ; and as they slept, visions of plunder in 
the sacked city floated before their minds. But they 
were baseless visions. The morrow’s sun, which they 
had fondly deemed would light them on to easy conquest, 
shone only on their stiffened corpses. 

“ Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, 

That host with their banners at sunset were seen 
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, 

That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. 

“ For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, 

And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ; 

And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, 

And their hearts but once heaved and for ever grew still.” 


OVERTHROW OF SENNACHERIB. 


219 


The victory thus achieved, was the victory of faith. 
The monarch of Israel firmly believed that the God in 
whom he trusted was able and willing to deliver him 
from the grasp of his enemy : he confidently looked for 
that deliverance, and he was not disappointed. Here 
was true faith, in its legitimate operation, receiving its 
appropriate reward. The God who delivered Israel in 
that day of trial, is still the same in his power and wil- 
lingness to save all who truly turn to him. The faith 
required in order to salvation, is just the same in its 
nature and operation with that which Hezekiah exer- 
cised ; while the blessed result of the operation of that 
faith, in every instance where it is exercised, will now, as 
then, assuredly be deliverance from every danger ; com- 
plete, and full, and everlasting salvation. 


JOB, IN AFFLICTION, REBUKING HIS WIFE. 


BY KEY. DANIEL SHARP, D.D. 


Job is an illustrious instance of patience and resigna- 
tion. We first see him on the very summit of prosperity, 
— rich, honored, and beloved. Happy in the affections of 
a large family at home ; and when he walked abroad, 
receiving the spontaneous homage and gratitude of all he 
met. 

We do not wonder that, in the fulness of his joy, he 
should have confidently said, “ I shall die in my nest.” 
It seemed impossible that any event should occur to 
change his condition and prospects. And yet, in a few 
short days, the entire aspect of his personal, domestic, 
and social affairs, was darkened. There was not one 
bright spot left. There was not one aperture, through 
which a ray of light could pass to irradiate the gloom. 
His immense property was wrested from him ; his seven 
sons and three daughters were suddenly and fearfully 
destroyed ; and he himself was covered with a loathsome 
cutaneous disease. To add to his calamities, his own wife 
avoided him ; and those who were once officious in their 
manifestations of respect, supposing that God had for- 
saken him, felt it their duty to forsake him also. And, 
what rendered his case peculiarly mysterious, there 





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JOB REBUKING HIS WIFE. 


221 


seemed to be no just cause for his calamities. He had 
committed no crime. He had not gained his wealth by- 
fraud.- He had practised no oppression ; nor had he 
been stinted in his liberality. He had never been deaf 
to the orphan’s cry ; nor had he ever turned away from 
the "sight of pinched and tattered poverty. So far from 
this, he exercised that wisest and best of all charity, a 
kind, personal inquiry into the necessities, of the poor. 
44 The cause that he knew not, he searched out.” How 
unaccountable that such a person should suffer ! How 
seemingly unjust, that his possessions should be taken 
from him- ! Man, with his limited views and strong feel- 
ings of disappointment, might well be excused, if, in Job’s 
condition, he should question whether there could be an 
all- wise and all-just universal Providence. 

But the patriarch had no such misgivings. He had no 
such dark and desponding doubts. He who had been 
generous in prosperity, was patient in adversity. He 
who had liberally dealt out to the needy from his abun- 
dance, calmly submitted to the privations of poverty. It 
will generally hold, as in his case, that he who acts well 
in one condition of life, will act well in another. A 
modest, unenvious, contented poor man, will make an 
unostentatious, considerate, and charitable rich man. 
The patriarch, who was thankful and hospitable when he 
possessed wealth, was uncomplaining and resigned when 
deprived of it. He saw the hand of God in his former 
estate ; so he did in his latter. When all was gone , 44 he 
fell down upon the ground and worshipped, and said, the 


19 * 


222 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away ; blessed be 
the name of the Lord.” 

There was one aggravation in Job’s calamities pecu- 
liarly trying — the peevish and upbraiding spirit of his 
wife. If we experience personal misfortunes, or some 
disastrous change in our family circumstances, we have 
this comfort, we are sure of sympathy and condolence 
from a wife. We feel that her gentler nature, and ten- 
derer sensibilities, and softer voice, and kinder endear- 
ments, are graciously vouchsafed by Providence, to 
smooth the rougher passages of man’s life. And when 
was this confidence ever disappointed ? With a few sad 
and solitary exceptions, when did woman ever forsake the 
man to whose fortunes she had linked herself, whatever 
might be his troubles ? No ! she is a ministering angel ; 
never complaining, never wearied ; sleepless in her vigils, 
and encouraging her disconsolate one “ to hope on and 
hope ever.” 

But Job had not this consolation — the consolation of 
a patient, soothing, sympathetic female friend. His wife, 
with scornful aspect and threatening mien, said to him : 
u Dost thou still retain thine integrity ? Curse God, 
and die.” How strange a temper she possessed ! How 
perverted her views and passions ! What could she hope 
from her advice ! If her husband had cursed God and 
died, would that have bettered her own condition ? 
Surely, when he heard this last speech, and saw not 
only the impiety but the alienation it betokened, his cup 
of sorrow must have been filled to the brim. To be 


JOB REBUKING HIS WIFE. 


223 


neglected and abandoned in poverty and in trouble, is 
not very uncommon ; but to be taunted and upbraided by 
an unsympatbizing wife, is about the lowest depth of mis- 
ery into which a human being can be brought. But “ in 
all this, Job sinned not.” No passionate exclamations of 
disappointment or indignation, w T ere retorted. He only 
replied calmly, “ Thou speakest as one of the foolish 
women speaketh ; ” and then, as if his recollections of 
God’s past goodness were revived, and his confidence in 
the wisdom and equity of God’s providences was invig- 
orated by being assailed, he says, “ What ! shall we 
receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not 
receive evil.” As he had seen the hand of God in his 
blessings, so he saw it in his calamities. And in the 
latter case as in the former, he had no doubt that that 
hand was under an infinitely-wise and ever-gracious 
direction. It was this faith which inspired Job with 
patience and resignation ; whilst his wife was a prey to 
the unwomanly feelings of a fretful dissatisfaction with 
her lot, and a heartless indifference to her husband’s life. 

Having described the patience and resignation of Job 
under the most aggravating calamities, a few practical 
reflections cannot be deemed improper. 

It must be obvious to all, that Job’s afflictions were 
intended to set his character in a new and beautiful light. 
Satan had accused him of low and sordid motives. 
“ Doth Job fear God for nought ? Hast thou not made 
an hedge about him, and about his house, and about all 
that he hath on every side ? Thou hast blessed the 
work of his hands, and his substance is increased in the 


224 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


land. But put forth thine hand now, and touch all that 
he hath, and he will curse the? to thy face.” He was 
touched ; and we know how resplendently he came forth 
out of the crucible in which he had been placed. His 
virtues had been great before, but his sincerity, his 
patience, his steadfast faith, his disinterested piety and 
integrity 

“ Shone brightest in affliction’s night.” 

Religion was honored in the conduct of Job. The wicked 
were silenced, and their cavils overthrown. And succes- 
sive generations have been benefited by the contemplation 
of his example. So we may be the subject of severe 
trials ; not because our Maker takes pleasure in our 
pains, but that we may convince those around us that 
there is a sustaining and tranquillizing power in our faith ; 
and that We can be meek under reproaches, resigned 
under great losses, and submissive under the darkest and 
most distressing providences. 

And then, it should not be forgotten, that trials are 
intended to be disciplinary. We form a wrong estimate 
in regard to good. Were the wishes of most of us grati- 
fied, we should not only possess a competency, but large 
wealth. We should live at ease, and roll in our silken- 
lined carriages, and dwell in our own ceiled houses. But 
our Heavenly Father may see that these luxuries would 
engender in us an improper spirit of independence, and 
the swelling of pride and of self-importance. He there- 
fore places beyond our reach what we would gladly 
possess. Nay, he permits us to be placed in trying cir- 


JOB REBUKING HIS WIFE. 


225 


cumstances ; that we may become thoughtful, spiritual, — 
dead to the world, and devoted to the best interests of 
humanity and religion. Now, if the fruit of affliction be 
to take away sin, and if it produces the peaceable fruits 
of righteousness to them that are exercised thereby, we 
shall have no reason to complain, but to say with grati- 
tude, 

“ Afflictions from his sovereign hand 
Are blessings in disguise.” 

It would be well, if we could be persuaded that our true 
happiness depends, not so much on our condition, as on 
the harmony of our minds with our situation. If, with 
the apostle Paul, we can learn that divine art of know- 
ing “ how to want and how to abound ; how to be abased 
and how to be exalted ; and yet, in every state, therewith 
to be content,” we cannot fail both to please God and to 
be happy. 

And especially, under painful providences, let us be 
very anxious to read and correctly interpret the lessons 
which they address to us. Is the evil with which we are 
visited incidental, corrective, or, as in the case of Job, is 
it intended to bring out more conspicuously the sincerity 
and excellence of our principles ; then, let us not be dis- 
mayed at its approach, nor faint under its pressure ; but 
patiently hope and earnestly pray, that, in a course of 
self-discipline, we may find it good for us to have been 
afflicted. 


THE PSALMIST PLAYING UPON 'THE HAEP. 

BY JAMES REES, ESQ. 

Connected with the name of “ the sweet Psalmist of 
Israel, : ” is the power and influence of music. It is to 
the harmony, pervading all creation, “ religion owes her 
holiest sway.” For 


“ All Nature is full of thee. The summer bower 
Eespon^eth to the songster’s mdrning lay ; 

The bee his concert keeps from flower to flower, 

As forth he sallies on his honied way ; 

Brook calls to brook, as down the hills they stray ; 

The isles resound with song from shore to shore ; 
Whilst viewless minstrels on the wings that play, 
Consorted streams in liquid measure pour, 

To thunder’s deep-toned voice, or ocean’s sullen roar.” 


It is not a difficult matter to trace the origin of music ; 
it is a part and portion of creation, and coeval with our 
race. Much of its power and influence have been lost, 
or rather lessened, by the increase of art, and the ad- 
vancement of other sciences equally as pleasing, and 
affording to the mind as wide a range for its enjoyment as 
does that of music. Yet all art, all science, are as 
nothing in the absence of music ; it is the guardian 
spirit of the created world, throwing over the works and 


THE PSALMIST. 


227 


inventions of man that charm which it derives alone 
from nature. Music produces poetry ; music taught us 
to subdue our passions. The Hebrews consecrated it to 
the Divinity ; and the Greeks, honoring it no less, ranked 
it among their instruments of legislation. They intro- 
duced it everywhere, — in their games, festivals, and 
ceremonies, and to inspire order into their legions in the 
hour of battle ; * a custom that has made music in our 
day one of the principal instruments of warfare. Of all 
the arts, music is the most natural to man ; and it is fair 
to infer that each nation, even at an early period of its 
history, must have possessed it to a certain extent ; differ- 
ing only from that of other lands according to climate, 
and other circumstances. The Arcadians, whose manners 
were of a rough and savage character, became a subdued, 
and a more happy and contented people, by the exercise 
of the power and influence of music. Music soothes the 
mind, lulls to sleep all angry passions ; “ thus it will 
affect the most dull, severe, and sorrowful souls ; expelle 
griefe with mirth ; and if there be any clouds, dust, or 
dregges of care, yet lurking in our thoughts, most 
powerfully it wipes them aw T ay.” 

The history of psalm-singing is a portion of the history 
of the Reformation ; of that great religious revolution, 
which separated for ever into two equal divisions the 
establishment of Christianity. 


* “ It filled them with courage, and a contempt of danger ; and it was 
by the help, of the military song that they sounded the charge, rally, 
retreat, &c.” 


228 


SACKED TABLEAUX. 


Man is an instrument of music ; Ms every thought is 
expressed by note. Fear, joy, desire, anger, have each 
a peculiar tone, understood by all human beings, and 
comprehended by the brute. Man exercises this power 
in the various avocations and circumstances of life ; he 
uses it to heighten a certain feeling of excitement, or 
allay the fury of his antagonist. The poet so expresses 
it: — 

Thou, 0 Music, can’st assuage the pain, 

And heal the wound, which hath defied the skill 
Of sager comforters. Thou dost restrain : 

Each wild emotion, at thy wondrous will ; 

Thou dost the rage of fiercest passions chill, 

Or lighten up the flame of holy fire ; 

As through the mind thy “ plaints harmonious thrill ; 

And thus a magic doth surround the lyre, 

A power divine doth dwell amid the sacred fire.” 

It is not, however, denied, but the vile and the debased 
have used the power of music for purposes calculated to 
advance their own designs. Harmonius, son of the 
famous heretic Bardesaines, a Syrian, who lived in the 
twelfth century of the Christian era, contributed greatly 
to the propagation of heresy, by the fascinating sweet- 
ness of the melodies which he composed and applied to 
odes and canticles written against the religion of Christ. 
So struck was St. Ephraim with their mellifluousness, and 
so persuaded that they were qualified by their beauty 
to recommend and spread any doctrine in support of 
which they might be employed, that he set the same 
tunes to different words, and ordered them to be pub- 
licly sung. 


THE PSALMIST. 


229 


All nature is full of music. There is music in the 
hum of the bee, as it wantons from flower to flower ; 
music so sweet and harmonious, that it seems, as it were, 
the lullaby to the thousand meaner insects, whose couches 
are made among the roses o’er which the bee roves with 
a monarch’s pride. There is music in the grove, music 
of the sweetest kind ; strains of melody are heard from 
a thousand tuneful throats, and their delicious warble 
gives to the otherwise silent spot a fairy-like charm, 
which is calculated to divert our thoughts from the 
grosser scenes of life, to higher and more sublime 
themes. 

There is no sound of simple nature that is not musi- 
cal.* It is all God’s workmanship ; all harmonious. 
There is music in the breeze at eventide, as it passes, 
iEolian-like, o’er the face of the earth. There is music 
in the loud roar of the storm, as it swells up and mingles 
with the louder notes of the heaven-breathing thunder. 
You hear the deep moan among the tall trees, when the 
tempest is up, and they bow down before it. You hear 
it in the long, hissing grass, as it sweeps through, and 
moves afar off, and mingles with the roar of the cataract. 


* Connected with the simple plant Podophyllum [wild Mandrake] is 
the following beautiful allegorical legend. We say allegorical, as the 
very formation of this simple plant gives it the means of producing sounds 
which its botanical classification fully explains. It is said to breathe forth, 
at certain times, the most plaintive sounds and melancholy moans, indica- 
tive of pain, or suffering. It is also said to utter, as it were, a wild scream, 
or shriek, if rudely torn from its bed. We mention this merely for the 
poetic beauty of the legend, as possessing no proof of its having any foun- 
dation in truth. 


20 


230 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


There is music on the ocean, wild and fearful music ; it 
comes upon the soul like a ripple of ill, stirring up fears, 
which, while they affright and appall, subdue us. The 
music of the mighty deep is the mysterious workings of 
Deity (like the iEolian harp, touched by unseen fingers). 
We listen, and gaze upon the mighty instrument, breath- 
ing forth its fearful melody ; and worship, in silence, the 
invisible musician. There is music in the running stream, 
as it murmurs along through wood and wild. There is 
music in the mountain torrent, as it rushes down the 
steep, harsh and inharmonious as it sounds ; yet the 
loosened rocks may fall into the abyss, and the overblown 
trees may rush down through the branches of the wood, 
and the thunder peal awfully in the sky. Sudden and 
violent as these changes seem, their tumult goes up with 
the sound of winds and waters ; and the exquisite ear of 
the musician can detect, in all this uproar, no jar. Har- 
mony prevails, even amid the war of the elements. 

Plato speaks of the music of ; the spheres ; a harmony 
resulting from the motions of the planets, and modulated 
by their respective distances and magnitudes. This idea 
is, in some measure, sanctioned by Proclus ; who asserts, 
that even “ the growth of plants is attended with sound.” 
Every object that moves, produces a greater or less vibra- 
tion in the atmosphere. Observing this, Pythagoras and 
Plato conceived it to be impossible that bodies so large 
as the planets, and revolving in orbits so vast, should 
move without audible repercussion. So it might be said, 
that the heavens produce a concert, to which the gods 
themselves might delight in listening. “ A melody,” says 


THE PSALMIST. 


281 


Tyrius, u too transcendent for the frailty of man, and the 
excellence of which ethereal beings are alone capable or 
appreciating.” How beautifully does Shakspeare incor- 
porate this sublime idea in the following : — 

“ There is not the smallest orb which thou behold’st, 

But in his motion like an angel sings.” 

The Hebrew Scriptures convey the same idea. “ The 
stars move in their course, rejoicing.” “ When the 
morning stars sang together,” &c. &c. A celebrated 
divine, speaking of David, says : “ Finding how short his 
own praises were, he wishes all creatures, in heaven and 
earth, would conspire in sweet symphony . in singing 
hymns unto God. First, let the celestial choir begin, and 
sing their thankful hymns to him who hath raised them so 
high.” David thus sings : — 

“ Praise ye him, sun and moon ; praise him, 

All ye stars of light.’’ 

Bishop Horne has, in his Commentaries, this beautiful 
sentiment : “ The material heavens, with the luminaries 
placed in them, by their splendor and magnificence, their 
motions and their influences, all regulated and exerted 
according to the ordinance of their Maker, do, in a very 
intelligible and striking manner, declare the glory of 
God. They call upon us, to translate their actions into 
our language, and copy their obedience in our lives ; that 
so we may, both in word and deed, glorify with them 
the Creator of the universe.” 

Servius says the idea of the music of the spheres ori- 


232 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


ginated with Orpheus, and that Pythagoras was the only 
Jiuman being permitted to hear it.* 

Music, like all other arts, has been progressive ; and 
its improvements may be traced through a period of more 
than three thousand years. Being common to all ages 
and nations, neither its invention nor refinement can, with 
propriety, be attributed, to any single individual. We 
have already said that music — such music as the angels 
have — is a part and portion of creation, and coeval with 
our race. But systematic music, subject to the caprice 
of man and the various degrees of art, is attributed by 
Sir Isaac Newton to the Hermes or Mercury of the 
Egyptians, surnamed Trismegistus, or thrice illustrious. 
The study of music, as related by Diodorus Siculus, in 
Egypt, was confined to the priesthood ; who used it only 
in religious and solemn ceremonies. It was esteemed 
sacred, and forbidden to be employed on light or common 
occasions ; and all innovation in it was strictly pro- 
hibited. 

We learn from the sacred writings, that, in Laban’s 
time, instrumental music was much in use in the country 
where he dwelt, that is, in Mesopotamia ; since, among 
other reproaches which he makes to his son-in-law Jacob, 
he complains that, by his precipitate flight, he had put it 
out of his power to conduct him and his family, “ with 


* u Beneath the purple silentness of night 

Poets have dreamed of spheral music, pealing 
Among the stars ; and, on their solemn light 
Gazing, have heard its faint vibrations stealing 
Along the winds of time.” 


THE PSALMIST. 


233 


mirth and with songs, with tabret and with harp.” The 
son of Sirach, in giving directions to the master of a 
banquet as to his behavior, desires him amongst other 
things, “ to hinder not the music ; ” and to this he adds, 
“ a concert of music in a banquet of wine, is a signet of 
emerald set in a work of gold ; so is the melody of music 
with pleasant wine.” 

Ossian has the following beautiful passage : “ The 
music of Caryl is like the memory of joys that are past, 
pleasing and mournful to the soul.” 

Instrumental music can be traced to the rustling of 
the winds among the leaves and the reeds, and the hum- 
ming of birds. The reeds on the bank of the Nile gave 
rise to wind-instruments, according to some historians, 
which the construction of the iEolian harp in some 
measure corroborates. This sweet instrument was in- 
vented by Kircher, in 1649. The lovers of pure tones 
and simple melody have gained more delight in this harp, 
than can be drawn from all others, however skilful in 
their combinations. Its sounds are as wild as the wind 
that blows upon it, and as mysterious as its source. The 
iEolian does not properly come under the head of wind- 
instruments, as its construction shows; but in the discov- 
ery we have of the one is to be found the origin of the 
other. A writer in an old number of Blackwood, has 
written some beautiful lines under the head of. “The 
Music of the Reeds.” 

“ A voice of music swells from yonder reeds, 

Where flits on feeble wing the rising blast, 

Low as the sound when gentle Pity pleads, 

Or lone Remembrance mourns the cherished past. 


20 * 


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Now with wild notes upon the waters cast, 

Like solemn voices joined in holy strain, — 

Anon with measures intermingling fast, 

As peals the distant choir, — and hushed again, 

Like Hope that cheers Despair, or Grief that 
Weeps in vain.” 

/ ' _ ; : . . , rfJi 

Many of the historians and poets of antiquity refer the 
origin of vocal music to the feathered tribe. They appre- 
ciated their power and their influence ; and, charmed 
with their notes, their souls rendered them homage. 
They thought it only necessary to listen to the captivat- 
ing notes of the nightingale, during one of the pure and 
beautiful mornings of spring, or during one of the deli- 
cious evenings of summer, to realize those dreams of 
Elysium which dwelt upon the memory as do thoughts of 
other days. A sweet poet thus elegantly expresses him- 
self upon this subject : — 

“ Through all the woods they heard the charming noise 
Of chirping birds, and tried to frame their voice 
And imitate. Thus birds instructed man, 

And taught them songs before the world began. 

And whilst soft evening gales blew o’er the plains, 

And shook the sounding reeds, they taught the swains ; 

And thus the pipe was framed, and tuneful reed.” * 


* There are, however, on the earth a few places, isolated spots, where 
silence the most profound reigns, o’er whose fields the “ winged messen- 
gers” seldom fly. The breezes of night find there no key to awaken 
sounds as they pass along, and die away in awful stillness, ere they reach 
the centre. We allude to the prairies, those vast parterres in the arcana of 
nature. Here, in the centre of a sea of stubble, no sound breaks upon the 
ear ; for, like the deserts of Arabia, the prairies are the mysterious portions 
of the earth. Yet, unlike the desert and the ocean, they are silent. For 
here there is no music. The voices of men produce no echo ! Here there 


THE PSALMIST. 


235 


Oar churches, until very recently, have been some- 
what backward in connecting music with their services. 
The happy influence that would be exerted by the general 
introduction of the organ, the flute, and the violin, — the 
latter the viol of David, — into Christian churches of all 
denominations, should animate the friends of piety and 
musical science to use their best exertions to this end. 
The praise of God is the most elevated and ennobling of 
our employments upon earth. And there is in the rich, 
harmonious, and solemn intonations of the “ sacred instru- 
ment,” as the organ has been termed, that which cannot 
fail to add much to mere vocal utterance. 

“ They take the timbrel and harp, and rejoice at the 
sound of the organ,” is the language of Job. Vocal and 
instrumental music constituted a principal feature in the 
ceremonies of the Jews, more particularly at their funerals. 
The pomp and expense on these occasions were immense. 
The number of flute-players in the processions, amounted 
sometimes to several hundreds, and the attendance of the 
guests continued frequently for thirty days. The char- 
acter of the Grecian music appears to have been noisy 
and vociferous in the extreme. The trumpet-players at 
the Olympic games used to express an excess of joy 
when they found their exertions had burst a blood-vessel, 
or done them some other serious injury. Lucian relates 
of a young flute-player, Harmonides, that, on his first 


is no verberation of sound. Matter and motion rest calmly on the prairies ! 
Respect the prairies as you would some cloistered aisle ; tread lightly o’er 
their pathway; for here, and only here, is the true temple of Jehovah! 
And all things keep silence before him. 


236 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


public appearance at these games, he began a solo with 
so violent a blast, in order to surprise and elevate the 
audience, that he breathed his last breath into his flute, 
and died on the spot. 

Bells form no part of the ceremonies of the Christian 
church ; nor are they calculated to give effect to any 
portion of its service. Bells were invented for the pur- 
pose of calling the people together, and were considered 
a great improvement on the rattles u sacra ligna,” to 
“ call the congregation.” The first bells are said to 
have been made about the year 400, at Nola, in Cam- 
pania, whereof St. Paulinus was made bishop in 409 ; at 
least it is asserted he was the first who brought them into 
use in the church. Bells, in the “ olden time,” were 
consecrated and dedicated to some saint. This practice 
originated in the time of Pope John XIII., who occupied 
the pontifical chair from 965 to 972, and who first conse- 
crated a bell on the Lateran church, and gave it the 
name of John the Baptist. At an early period of the 
church history of England, this custom was imitated, and 
bells were not only consecrated, but baptized ! Musical 
bells, at one time very popular in the Greek church, 
have been superseded by more harmonious instruments. 
There are many curious facts connected with the history 
of bells — many of them characteristic of the age of 
superstition in which they were used. A quaint old 
writer says : “ Bells, in the time of popery, were bap- 
tized, anointed, and exorcised. They were blessed by 
the bishop. These and other ceremonies performed, it 
was verily believed that they had power to drive the 


THE PSALMIST. 


237 


4 devill out of the aire, to make him quake and tremble, 
to make him at the sound thereof flie ; ’ that they had 
power to 4 calme stormes and tempests, to make faire 
weather, to extinguish sudden fires, to recreate even the 
dead, and the like ; and, as you may reade in some of the 
Romane pontificals, they had the name of some sainte 
given to them in their baptisme.’ ” 

Except in the darkest ages of superstition, bells have 
only been used for their legitimate purpose, that of 
44 calling the congregation together.” And yet one of 
those dark ages, we regret to say, was at a period in the 
history of the Christian church when the Bible was kept 
as a sealed book from the people. Thanks to Jehovah, 
the seal hath been broken, and the light of truth illumines 
the world. 

Having thus briefly glanced at the history of written 
and unwritten music, apart from its connection with our 
subject, we now come to the Holy Scriptures, every word 
of which is hallowed and attuned to music by the spirit of 
Deity ; for the Bible is full of poetry, full of harmony. 

We cannot speak of music but we necessarily connect it 
with the creation. The language of the Holy Scriptures 
breathes throughout that peculiar tone which vibrates 
upon the heart, and teaches us that music is the voice of 
Deity. David, the Psalmist, stands before us the min- 
strel of Jehovah, — the harper of his time, whose songs 
were an epitome of the Bible, adapted to the purposes of 
devotion. Nor is it surprising that his beautiful illustra- 
tions, shadowing forth the coming of Christ, in all the 


238 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


imagery and beauty of poetic and moral thought, and 
his love and admiration for all created things, should 
have brought him in immediate connection with his Lord 
and Master. David was emphatically a man after God’s 
own heart, and who was to assist in establishing his king- 
dom on earth. Psalms 21 and 22. 

With old English history we associate the aged harper, 
seated in some castle-hall, recounting over the deeds 
of the noble lord he serves, and extolling, with fulsome 
praise, his buried ancestry. The rude strains accom- 
panying his impassioned song resound through the oaken 
chambers, and the wild enthusiasm of the bard is commu- 
nicated to his listeners, which is manifested by various 
demonstrations peculiar to the character and tempera- 
ment of each. And what is this but imitation ?• The 
Psalmist of old speaks in praise of his Master, his Lord ; 
and how the heart throbs at his all-inspiring words ! how 
the bosom glows with love and adoration of the “ King of 
kings,” and the “ Lord of lords ” ! The holy Psalmist 
sits not in castle-halls. His seat is more lowly and 
humble, although his themes are far more exalted. He 
recounts to an admiring world the glorious deeds of him 
he serves. The chords are struck, — the sounds come 
forth in soft and holy measure ; as he proceeds, they 
gain strength and force with the subject and inspiring 
thoughts, and he is carried away, not with the enthusiasm 
of the moment, but the feelings of years. These all con- 
tend in his gifted song, giving to the world more melody 
and truth in one single verse, than ever did the minstrels 


THE PSALMIST. 


239 


of the fourteenth century, in their volumes of romance 
and legendary songs, dedicated to the vanity of man * 
We do not condemn this species of imitation of the 
Psalmist, by those whom, it is said, went into battle with 

“Their wild harps slung behind them.” 

On the contrary, it has afforded to a peculiar branch of 
our literature a pleasing series of works, which, if not 
strictly historical, are at least looked upon as giving a 
somewhat correct view of the times, and of the individ- 
uals who figured therein. We might name Sir Walter 
Scott ; and in doing so we feel assured that our readers 
will join with us in asserting that not one immoral thought 
or vicious expression breathes throughout that little world 
of romance he created for our amusement. 

Who that has ever read the Psalms of David, with a 
heart alive to the subject, but felt as if he was in the 
presence of God. The Psalmist, with his harp, brings 
us into close communion with heavenly things ; and that 
immense distance which lays between the king and the 
subject, is lessened by the kind words and affectionate 
greetings with which the humblest of his retainers is 
received. 

“ My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, 0 Lord ; in 
the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee.” Psalm 
5: 3.* The song of praise goes forth on the “ wings of 
the morning,” vibrating through all space, until it reaches 
the divine presence. Songs of praise are acceptable to 

* The celebrated Handel often declared that “ he would rather be the 
author of Carolan’s Ellen Aroon, than of all his own compositions. 


240 


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God, as being in accordance with the beauty, the melody, 
and the harmony pervading all earth. Joy, such joy as 
the light of religion and truth brings to the soul, was 
expressed by instruments of music. “ Psalteries, and 
harp, and cymbals, sounding, by lifting up the voice 
with joy.” 1 Chronicles, 15 : 16. 

“ The sweet Psalmist of Israel,” with whom the Spirit 
of God spake, and whose “ word was on his tongue,” 
2 Samuel, 23 : 2, has given to the world that spirit 
which breathes throughout his writings, and syllables 
Deity in every sweet-sounding note. 

Bishop Horne, in his Commentaries on the Psalms, 
says : “ They are adorned with the figures, and set off 
with the graces, of poetry ; and poetry itself is designed 
yet farther to be recommended by the charms of music, 
thus consecrated to the service of God ; that so, delight 
may prepare the way for improvement, and pleasure 
become the handmaid of wisdom, while every turbulent 
passion is calmed by sacred melody ; and the evil spirit 
is still dispossessed by the harp of Jesse.” They pre- 
sent religion to us in its most engaging dress, communi- 
cating truths, which philosophy could never investigate, in 
a style which poetry can never equal ; while history is 
made the vehicle of prophecy, and creation lends all its 
charms to paint the glories of redemption. Is there any- 
thing in the English language, nay, since the introduc- 
tion of letters, that will bear comparison with scriptural 
composition ? What can be more poetically beautiful 
than the eighteenth Psalm ? It is the happiest combina- 
tion of poetry and music extant. 


THE PSALMIST. 


241 


9. He bowed the heavens also, and came down : and 
darkness was under his feet. 

10. And he rode upon a cherub, and did fly ; yea, he 
did fly upon the wings of the wind. 

11. He made darkness his secret place : his pavilion 
round about him were dark waters and thick clouds of 
the skies. 

12. At the brightness that teas before him his thick 
clouds passed ; hail-sfames and coals of fire. 

13. The Lord also thundered in the heavens, and the 
Highest gave his voice ; hail-s&mes and coals of fire. 

Let us picture David, the holy and inspired Psalmist, 
seated with his harp before him : his eyes are raised in 
adoration to Him he serves, and to whom he dedicates the 
outpourings of a pure and contrite heart. How sub- 
lime ! how calm ! how holy ! There is a portraiture of 
true harmony, emblematical of music, in its identification 
with all that is beautiful and glorious on earth. The 
very picture calls up every association that is connected 
with the history and creation of the world : u In the be- 
ginning God created the heaven and the earth ; and 
darkness was upon the face of the deep ; and the Spirit of 
God moved upon the face of the waters.” O’er the vast 
deep, mingling its sound with that of rushing air, came 
the full, clear voice of J ehovah ; every ripple it raised 
bore it along, swelling up the concatenation of sweet 
sounds — the birth of music — until they mingled with 
the song of light which at that moment broke upon the 
world, arid the voice of Deity called into existence — 
“ Let there be light ; and there was light.” How beau- 


21 


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SACRED TABLEAUX. 


tifully lias our Psalmist alluded to this. How musical ! 
it was harmony called it forth. Psalm 33 : 

3. Sing unto him a new song ; play skilfully with a 
loud noise. 

4. For the word of the Lord is right ; and all his 
works are done in truth. 

5. He loveth righteousness and judgment : the earth 
is full of the goodness of the Lord. 

6. By the word of the Lord were the heavens made : 
and all the host of them by the breath of his mouth. 

7. He gathereth the waters of the sea together as an 
heap : he layeth up the depth in storehouses. 

8. Let all the earth fear the Lord ; let all the inhab- 
itants of the world stand in awe of him : 

8. For he spake, and it was done ; he commanded, 
and it stood fast. 

“ Praise ye the Lord, with harp ; sing unto him with 
psaltery, and an instrument of ten strings.” * All here 


* This instrument was called the viol, having ten strings, and played 
with a bow. The psaltery had twelve musical notes, and was played upon 
by the fingers. The cymbals were broad and large instruments, and were 
made of brass. “ I will sing a new song unto thee, 0 God ; upon a 
psaltery, and an instrument of ten strings, will I sing praises unto thee.” 
The lyre, the harp, the flute, and the violin, were known to the Romans. 
The lyre of the Greeks was the harp of the moderns ; and the viol and 
vielle, of the middle ages, is the modern violin. The nublium and the 
psalterium of the ancient Jews, are said to have strongly resembled the 
violin. Euphorion, in his book of De Isthmicis, describes an ancient 
instrument called magades, which was surrounded by strings, and which 
was played with a bow across it. The organ mentioned in the Bible, 
differs materially from the modern one. The Hebrew word ugab , or 
syrinx, a kind of instrument with pipes, a small wind-instrument invented 
by Jubal, is no doubt the organ alluded to in Scripture. “And his 


THE PSALMIST. 


243 


is music, written music ; and yet, equally expressive is 
the unwritten music of nature ; for it is the language of 
Deity, and the only living-one familiar to all ears, and by 
all understood. Its gamut is the human heart ; it re- 
quires no semibreves, minims, crotchets, or quavers ; it 
is the music of nature, not of art. 

It is a pleasing task, one rather of presumption than 
supererogation in us, to speak of the bright gems of David, 
which sparkle on the Book of Life like stars in the glorious 
firmament. We can only speak of them, however, as 
the humblest of his admirers would speak of all things 
bright, pure, and beautiful on earth, and which have 
their origin in heaven. We can stand at a distance, and 
drink in those holy sounds, as they come forth from his 
inspired harp ; and bend lowly down and acknowledge our 
own insignificance, when compared to the chosen and the 
gifted ones of God. It is that kind of music that only 
reaches the heart when the spirit sinks and thoughts 
become languid. You can temper your heart to the 
serenest mood by its lowest murmur ; for it is the music 
of inspiration, and comes to us like a dream of paradise, 
the realization of which is only to be found when it is 
remembered in your waking moments. We will conclude 
our crude essay on music, and its connection with the 
Psalmist, by quoting the closing Psalm. 

1. Praise ye the Lord. Praise God in his sanctuary: 
praise him in the firmament of his power. 


brother’s name was Jubal ; he was- the father of all such as handle the 
harp and organ.” Gen. 4: 21. 


244 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


2. Praise him for his mighty acts,: praise him accord- 
ing to his excellent greatness. 

3. Praise him with the sound of the trumpet : praise 
him with the psaltery and harp. 

4. Praise him with the timbrel and dance : praise him 
with stringed-instruments and organs. 

5. Praise him upon the loud cymbals : praise him upon 
the high-sounding cymbals. 

6. Let every thing that hath breath praise the Lord. 
Praise ye the Lord. 

So sang David in the temple of the Lord. “ Let 
every man living join himself to this sacred choir, and at 
every breath praise the Lord, the Giver of life, and of 
all good things.” 




* 



\V. LOrmsbv, NVwYoik, 












DANIEL IN THE LIONS’ DEN. 


BY REV. E. N. KIRK. 

Nebuchadnezzar II. invaded and conquered Judea, 
about six hundred years before the Christian era. 
Among those whom he carried captive to Babylon, was 
a youth of royal lineage, about thirteen years of 
age, of beautiful person, extraordinary faculties, and 
extraordinary piety ; who afterwards became a prophet, 
and one of the most distinguished of that wonderful 
order of men. The scene which the artist has here 
illustrated, is explained in the Epistle to the He- 
brews, 11 : 33 ; where we are reminded of “ the proph- 
ets, who, through faith, stopped the mouths of lions.” 
This explanation elevates the whole occurrence immeas- 
urably above all the extravagances of fiction, all the 
wondrous feats of mere animal courage and brute force, 
and above all those pretended miracles, whose end and 
execution are unworthy of Him to whom they are falsely 
ascribed. 

Faith is the restored life of the soul, by which the lost 
union between man and his Creator is recovered. The 
believer sees the invisible Jehovah in all his works, and 
in all the history of the world ; hears him in his Word, 
recognizes his perpetual presence, feels the awe of that 
21* 


246 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


presence, and the pressure of his authority and claims. 
He obeys, as well as trusts ; and vain, utterly vain, is 
the confidence that does not fear and obey. True faith 
can therefore be understood only in this twofold aspect : 
as giving our Creator and Redeemer a hold upon the 
human will, to secure its obedience, even under the 
severest trials ; and at the same time as giving man a 
hold on the promises and power of Jehovah, to deliver 
and save him in the way of obedience. This distinction 
furnishes the key to Daniel’s entire history ; which ex- 
hibits on the one hand an unreserved consecration to the 
service of God, with obedience sustained even to the last 
extremity of difficulty and danger ; and on the other 
that faithfulness of God which fails not. 

Although torn from the arms of his parents at a tender 
age, and carried across a dreary desert in chains ; al- 
though removed from the restraints of home, an exile 
among a nation of idolaters, he firmly walks in the singu- 
lar path of holy obedience, and steadfastly relies upon 
the promised aid of God, amid the most -discouraging 
circumstances. When he was ordered to adopt a pre- 
scribed diet, that he might appear in good condition 
before the king, he “ purposed in his heart that he would 
not defile hijnself ” with meats prohibited by the law of 
Moses, meats offered to idols ; and wines which, perhaps, 
as a Nazarite, he had vowed not to drink. 

He was early thrown into the society of learned idola- 
ters, of bigoted astrologers and shrewd magicians, of 
proud and sensual courtiers ; and yet, through the long 
period of Nebuchadnezzar’s reign, through those of Evil- 


DANIEL IN THE LIONS 5 DEN. 


247 


merodach, Neriglissar, Laborosoarchod, Belshazzar, and 
Darius, his devotedness to God, his faith in God, his 
attachment to the oppressed and exiled church, remained 
unshaken. The seeds of this firm faith were early 
planted — probably by the hand of maternal piety — in 
the tender heart of the child. And this faith made him 
cheerful in the desert, in exile, and in slavery ; and up- 
right in the midst of powerful temptations. The loveli- 
ness and dignity it imparted, placed him in the first rank 
of human excellence. In fact, a more perfect character 
of mere man is not on the records of history. His 
firmness, tempered with modesty, humility, and cour- 
tesy ; his fidelity to God, to the king, . and to his 
church, make him a model most earnestly to be stu- 
died. 

Darius, with that instinct peculiar to great leaders, 
discerned in this stranger superior qualities for the admin- 
istration of civil affairs. He accordingly raised him to 
a rank nominally the second in the empire, but really, in 
some respects, the first. 

He made him chief of the three princes who ruled over 
the hundred and twenty governors of the Persian prov- 
inces. The manifestation of the royal favor, in ele- 
vating an aged Jew and a former minister of the 
rival Babylonian kingdom, to this high position, together 
with the holiness of his life and the faultlessness of his 
administration, combined to excite in the native princes 
a murderous spirit of envy, which could not rest until it 
had secured his destruction. Their plot was cunningly 
laid, and skilfully executed. They chose the absolute 


248 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


will of the monarch for their instrument ; and, to obtain 
the control of that, they enlisted his vanity ; so that the 
manifestation of his irresistible power might reconcile 
him to any inconveniences the decree should cause, and 
at the ^ime time prevent his looking to those more 
serious results which they were seeking. Such is the 
indifference to consequences which absolute power is apt 
to engender. 

When one dash of the pen can convulse half the globe, 
the temptation to frail human nature is very strong to try 
the fatal experiment ; and that, without any definite 
intention to injure a human being. While, therefore, we 
exculpate the king from any positive intention to do 
wrong, and from the slightest participation in the malice 
of the nobles, we at the same time cannot overlook the 
base and cruel indifference to the rights of conscience, 
and to the happiness of his subjects, involved in signing 
that bloody decree. What could be more arbitrary, 
unreasonable, cruel, and impious, than to forbid all prayer 
throughout his vast dominions for a month ? The decree 
ran thus : “ That whosoever shall ask a petition of any 
god or man, for thirty days, save of the king, shall be 
cast into the den of lions.” Thus, for thirty days, not a 
prayer could be offered, even to the gods in whom the 
nation believed ; not a child could make a request, even 
of his parents ; a man could not ask the slightest favor 
of his friend, without exposing himself to a horrible death. 
Unaccustomed to dread a tyrant’s frown, we can scarcely 
conceive the impression that decree produced ; or the 
gloom which hung, like a dread eclipse, over the millions 


DANIEL IN THE LIONS’ DEN. 


249 


inhabiting the vast territory between India and the Afri- 
can desert. 

There were, doubtless, many who saw the absurdity 
and wickedness of this law ; but, if they should venture 
to violate it, who could tell what base informer might 
convey the intelligence to some petty tyrant in the magis- 
tracy of his district ? Sin always shoots farther than it 
aims. Envy struck at a single victim, but the blow sent 
consternation through the heart of an empire. Flattery 
was its fitting and successful instrument. The king’s 
vanity blinded his judgment, and stifled within him the 
voice of humanity, that would have pleaded for his unof- 
fending children. Putting his royal hand to the writing 
and decree, he signed away the religious and social 
rights and liberties of all his loyal subjects, and exposed 
to a terrible death his personal friend, and the most 
valuable man in the kingdom. God be praised, that in 
his mercy the “ lines have fallen to us ” under a con- 
stitutional government ! In his autobiography, the pro- 
phet tells us nothing of a mental struggle, or even of a 
debate with himself, in regard to his duty. He simply 
says : “ Now when Daniel knew that the writing was 
signed, he went into his house ; and. his windows being 
open in his chamber toward Jerusalem, he kneeled upon 
his knees three times a day, and prayed, and gave thanks 
before his God, as he did aforetime.” 

It had always been his duty to pray ; and it was his 
duty at that time. Ho princes nor sovereigns can 
abridge the authority of God, who commands us to pray 
without ceasing ; nor the rights of man, who needs 


250 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


communion with God, — whose spiritual life demands the 
exercise of prayer and praise. No human legislation 
can make it wrong for any man to pray three times a 
day, or .more frequently. No human cruelty, no suffer- 
ing nor loss, can make it right in man to omit it. He 
had a fixed time and place of prayer, which all men 
might know if they chose to penetrate his seclusion. ’ It 
was near an open window, looking toward the west, and 
toward Jerusalem ; because idolaters turned to the east, 
to worship the sun ; because the Jewish system attached 
importance to the Temple ; because his hopes, concerning 
the restoration of the sacred city, were the chief burden 
of his prayers. And he looked toward it, as if to keep 
the Lord and himself reminded of it, and of the promises 
concerning its restoration. He prayed toward the place 
of the Temple ; because Christ is the true Temple, where 
God meets man, and to whom the believer must ever 
look, in prayer. He prayed with frequency, constancy, 
and regularity ; because he esteemed prayer the most 
important employment of life. He kneeled ; because it 
is the most suitable attitude, where it can conveniently be 
practised. He praised ; because we ought ever “ to 
make our requests known with thanksgiving ” ; and be- 
cause every thing that hath breath ought to praise the 
Lord. 

Daniel, doubtless, was fully aware of the dangerous 
consequences of persevering in this course. He knew 
that the laws of the Medes and Persians were immutable; 
but he also knew that those of Jehovah are more so. 
The wrath of Darius was terrible ; but not to be com- 


DANIEL IN THE LIONS* DEN. 251 

pared with the displeasure of Jehovah. He knew that 
he occupied an important station, not only for the tem- 
poral welfare of the empire, but also for their spiritual 
benefit, and for the good of the Jewish church. No 
other life was so important to their cause. The whole 
kingdom respected the Jews, on his account. His mys- 
terious prophecies had been promulgated in their hearing, 
and fulfilled in their observation. He had announced 
Cyrus’s victory only a few hours before the conqueror 
burst through the thick-leaved gates of brass, and drowned 
the din of their revelry in the shouts of his victorious 
army. 

Daniel was everywhere known and respected, for his 
wisdom, probity, genius, and nobleness. He had dis- 
played incomparable talent for government ; had been at 
the head of affairs for more than half a century, under 
the Babylonian and the Medo-Persian kings. If any 
man could further the interests of the Jewish church with 
the government, and hasten the return of the exiles to 
rebuild Jerusalem, it was he. And now his life was to 
be sacrificed, unless he should cease to pray for thirty 
days. Alas ! many of us have not waited for such an 
excuse, to omit prayer. And why could he not close 
his window, or pray without kneeling, or pray as he was 
engaged in his business, or pray at some other times, 
so as to escape observation ? Because he would thus 
have appeared to obey the unrighteous edict ; and so 
both be guilty of deception, and prove himself “ ashamed 
of Christ.” 

His enemies calculated with confidence upon the sue- 


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cess of their plot, because they knew that he would listen 
to no plea of worldly prudence against the dictates of 
his conscience. They expected, almost to a certainty, 
that he would still pray as aforetime, even after he had 
heard the thunder of the decree and the roar of the lions. 
Nor were they disappointed. And having found him 
engaged in prayer to the God of heaven, they hastened 
to inform the king, and secure their victim. The king 
discovering, too late, that he was entrapped ; that the 
axe of envy had hewn down a pillar of his empire ; and 
that the cruelty of false friends had robbed him of the 
man whose friendship and counsels he most prized, yields 
a reluctant consent to his destruction. But how affecting 
is the description of his feelings and conduct ! “ Then 

the king, when he heard these words, was sore displeased 
with himself, and set his heart on Daniel to deliver him. 
And he labored till the going down of the sun, to deliver 
him.’- Then these men, that their prey should not es- 
cape, through tha clemency and honorable feelings of 
Darius, assembled unto the king, and said unto him : 
“ Know, 0 king, that the law of the Medes and Persians 
is, That no decree nor statute which the king establisheth, 
may be changed. Then the king commanded, and they 
brought Daniel, and cast him into the den of lions.” 
These animals were probably kept for the purpose of 
destroying criminals ; and perhaps were deprived of food 
for a long time, to insure a voracious appetite. “Now 
the king spake and said unto Daniel, Thy God, whom thou 
servest continually, he will deliver thee.” And when 
he was cast in, and the stone door closed upon him, and 


DANIEL IN THE LIONS’ DEN. 


253 


sealed with the royal signet, and that of the lords, “ then 
the king went to his palace, and passed the night fasting ; 
neither were instruments of music brought before him ; 
and his sleep went from him.” 

Here is the last severe trial of Daniel’s obedience. At 
eighty-two years of age he is borne away by fierce execu- 
tioners, from the royal presence, from his seat of power, 
and, most painful of all, from his place of prayer, to be 
cast down into a cavern, and either perish horribly, or 
pass the night with filthy and ferocious beasts. 

His faith has now gone through its probation. It has 
proved that God had complete control of his heart, and 
complete command of his will ; that the earth possessed 
nothing which, by its appeal to his hopes or his fears, 
could make him swerve from his duty. 

Happy man ! holy man ! 

How let us see what the faithfulness of God will do for 
him. His deliverance is complete. It is not only a 
deliverance from death, but also from the fear of it ; from 
all cowardice, all hesitation or perplexity about duty, and 
from the excessive love of life. He had much to live 
for ; but he was ready to depart, to die even by the 
machinations of men, more cruel than the beasts they 
employed. The lions’ den had nothing to shake his 
nerves, if God were with him there. It is affecting to 
contrast his composure through the whole of this trying 
scene with the agitation and anxiety of Darius. We 
sympathize with the king ; and we esteem him for his 
strong attachment to this excellent man. But Daniel 
stands like a rock amid the sea of passions — paltry, ma- 


22 


254 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


lign'ant, andfierce — in the hearts of his enemies ; and the 
tossings of remorse, sorrow, and anxiety, which racked 
the breast of this poor king. We can readily believe 
that Daniel slept quietly in that dreary place, while the 
king found no rest, even upon his royal couch. So that, 
we are told, he “ arose very early in the morning, and 
went in haste unto the lions’ den. And when he came 
to the den, he cried with a lamentable voice unto Daniel, 
0 Daniel, servant of the living God, is thy God, whom 
thou servest continually, able to deliver thee from the 
lions ? ” 

Here was the king in person, in an unsuitable place, 
at an untimely hour. Why is he not on his couch ? 
Because he finds no repose there. Why does he not 
send some one of his thousand servants to inquire of 
Daniel’s safety ? Because he cannot wait for the tardi- 
ness of a messenger. He must hear the voice of Daniel, 
and assure himself that his friend survives. Now, hear 
Daniel reply, with the same calmness and courtesy that 
he would have employed in the palace : 44 0 king, live 
for ever. My God hath sent his angel, and hath shut 
the lions’ mouths, that they have not hurt me ; forasmuch 
as before him innocency was found in me ; and also 
before thee, 0 king, have I done no hurt.” There is 
here no perturbation, no revenge ; but a calm, meek, and 
grateful acknowledgment that God has vindicated him. 
This is the fruit of faith. 44 He that belie veth shall not 
make haste.” It is the fruit of the Spirit ; which is 44 joy 
and peace in believing.” The deliverance was not natu- 
ral, but supernatural. To regard it in any other light, 


DANIEL IN THE LIONS’. DEN. 255 

is to turn the whole history into a fable. All that malice 
could suggest and power could furnish to insure his 
destruction, had been done. The malicious princes had 
whetted the appetites which their own carcasses should 
first satiate. It is in the plan of God that many believ- 
ers shall seal their testimony with their own blood. And 
Daniel did not know but that his case was one of these. 
But the Lord had designed to glorify himself before the 
king, and princes, and people of Babylon, by a miracu- 
lous display of his power. And he had also an important 
part for Daniel yet to perform, in preparing the mind of 
Cyrus to reestablish his people in Jerusalem. By faith, 
then ? Daniel stopped the mouths of the lions. He trusted 
in God, whom he had obeyed, that, if it were best, he 
would render the lions harmless. The Lord delivered 
him ; and then graciously ascribed the deliverance to 
Daniel’s faith. 

These nobles had defied Jehovah to vindicate his claims, 
his cause, and his character, in the person of his servant. 
They had thus arrayed heathenism against the true reli- 
gion ; superstition and unbelief against faith in God. Bel 
and Jehovah were set against each other, in the presence 
of that mighty empire. Satan was here attacking the 
church of God, through its acknowledged representative. 
When, therefore, Daniel came out of the den unhurt, and 
these men were thrown in, “ and the lions had the mas- 
tery of them, and brake all their bones in pieces, or ever 
they came at the bottom of the den,” it was a triumph 
for God; for truth, for religion, and for the best interests 
of mankind. Benevolence could have wished that they 


256 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


might not place themselves in such a position. But 
being in that position by their own choice, an enlightened 
benevolence must rejoice in Daniel’s deliverance from 
their wicked machinations, and in so glorious a triumph 
of faith. 


THE NATIVITY, OR ADORATION OF THE WISE MEN. 

BY REV. JOHN WO ART. 

“ Where is he who is born king of the Jews ? ” was 
the inquiry of the wise men, or sages, who went from the 
East to Jerusalem at the time Jesus was born. Who 
these men were, has been a matter of much speculation 
with learned writers. From the best information to be 
gathered respecting them, we believe them to have been 
philosophers ; men who gave up their time to the study 
of astronomy, natural philosophy, and medicine. They 
associated together in bodies, and were much esteemed 
by the people at large for their wisdom and their high 
standard of morals. They refused to worship images, 
and had better ideas of a Supreme Being than any por- 
tions of the heathen world. The distinction which they 
enjoyed, made them the most suitable persons to receive 
information of the Saviour’s birth, and that the benefits 
of his coming were not to be confined to the Jewish 
nation. 

These philosophers dwelt originally in Persia, though, 
as their numbers increased, they afterwards lived also in 
Arabia. Those who visited Jerusalem and Bethlehem 
were probably from the latter country, as Arabia was 
celebrated for such productions as the wise men presented 


22* 


258 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


to Christ ; and we read in the seventy-second Psalm : “ The 
kings of Arabia and Saba shall bring gifts,” and “ unto 
him shall be given of the gold of Arabia.” 

A pious writer remarks, that “ it is not at all unrea- 
sonable to suppose that God had favored them with some 
extraordinary revelations of himself, as he did Melchise- 
dec, Abimelech, Job and his friends, and others who did 
not belong to the Abrahamic family.” 

The wise men are called in the original language magi. 
That word has for many years been applied to persons 
who profess to reveal the destinies of men, and to foretell 
future events. This can be easily explained. As these 
ancient philosophers were honored at the courts of kings 
and among great men, there soon sprang up a class of 
persons, who, for purposes of distinction and gain, pre- 
tended to much learning and goodness. They easily 
imposed upon ignorance and credulity ; and it soon 
became general to consult them upon all difficult subjects. 
At the present day, and even in this enlightened part of 
the world, this class of persons is found ; but not among 
the respectable portion of our communities, though we 
are obliged to acknowledge that members of the better 
classes of society are sometimes guilty of the sin of con- 
sulting these deceitful people. 

The star seen by the wise men was, doubtless, a light 
similar to those by which the Israelites were guided : 
that by which God appeared to Moses in the bush, which 
seemed to burn, whilst it was not consumed ; and which 
was seen around the Saviour, when there came a voice 
from heaven, “ This is my beloved Son, in whom I am 


THE NATIVITY. 


259 


well pleased.” Some writers think it the light which St. 
Luke tells us shone round about the shepherds, as they 
watched their flocks ; and that, in the great distance, it 
looked like a large star. The light was not placed in 
the east, but seen from that direction as the wise men 
travelled westward. 

We ought not to fail to notice here the attention which 
was at once given to this guiding light. The slightest 
delay might have caused the magi to remain in ignorance 
of the Messiah’s birth. They gave their whole time to 
this one subject, inquiring diligently, and especially at 
Jerusalem, to know where the object of their search was 
to be found. Would that people who dwell in Christian 
countries were equally as ready to follow the light which 
God sends to their hearts, and the effects of which may 
be everywhere seen around them in its blessed influences, 
by which light they would be led to seek the Saviour, 
and receive from him the good which he came to be- 
stow ! Delay, unwillingness to use exertion, and indiffer- 
ence, cause very many to forfeit the privileges of the 
gospel. 

This perseverance of the wise men is further seen in 
the fact, that Herod could not divert them from their 
purpose. Their very appearance, doubtless, kept him 
from attempting it ; and he hypocritically encouraged 
them on their way, professing to be desirous himself to 
worship Christ. 

We should also here notice the early opposition of Satan 
to the kingdom of the Messias. He put it into the 
heart of Herod to imagine that he would suffer loss by 


260 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


the birth of Jesus, and to form artful plans by which the 
infant ‘Redeemer might be brought within his power. 
The wise men were warned of God not to return to 
Herod ; and the life of the young child was preserved, 
though it was at the cost of many others ; for the king, 
in his wrath, ordered all the children in the coast of 
Bethlehem-, from two years old and under, to be slain. 

We learn here that God will preserve those who give 
themselves to his guidance. He will confound their ene- 
mies before them ; he will defeat, for their sakes, the 
wiles of the devil ; and he will save them from being 
the deceived instruments of bringing mischief upon his 
chosen ones. Would that the timid penitent could 
always be made to have full faith in the word of God ! 
When the Spirit calls, it is an influence which will se- 
curely guide. And it is sent to the heart by one who 
never will leave nor forsake the believer. It will con- 
duct him to the cross, and thence, through all the changes 
and vicissitudes of life, to the haven of eternal rest. 
Where is he, the penitent inquires, who was born, who 
lived, who suffered and died to save me from my sins ? 
He is pointed onward through temptation, and trial, and 
opposition, to the Cross. His determination, in the 
strength of divine grace, is formed. If I perish, it shall 
be in attempting to gain the Saviour. Such a one has 
faith, and he will obtain his reward, — the reward of 
those who diligently seek Christ. 

The magi, no doubt, gained instruction in their inter- 
view at the court of Herod ; and the excitement pro- 
duced throughout Jerusalem, answered some good purpose 


THE NATIVITY. 


261 


in the arrangements of Divine Providence : but the wise 
men were not left to depend upon the directions which 
they there received ; for, “ when they departed, lo, the 
star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it 
came and stood over where the young child was.” We 
are bound to use every means within our power to find the 
Saviour, and then to fulfil our duty in his service ; and 
yet, God is our guide and our strength. We must work 
out our own salvation ; and yet salvation is the gift 
of God. The zeal of the wise men gave evidence that 
they were earnest to find Jesus. When God saw this, he 
continued to lighten them on the way. When Christ 
healed the withered arm of the poor man in the syna- 
gogue, he bade him stretch it forth ; and in the attempt 
to obey, the arm was made whole like the other. We 
must seek, if we would find ; we must knock, if we ex- 
pect to have the door opened to us. 

The wise men were glad to see this star ; and so 
should we rejoice and be thankful at the slightest assist- 
ance which God is pleased to extend to us, as returning 
prodigals to our Father’s house ; and when he aids us, 
we should, by no means, diminish in the least our zealous 
efforts. All that God does for us, is infinite condescen- 
sion, and we should be glad and be grateful, as creatures 
who, of themselves, deserve nothing. It was wonderful 
love which communicated the slightest information to the 
wise men, by which they might find Christ : and if they 
had been left to search out the way without the guidance 
of a star, they would still have had cause for unbounded 
gratitude. Where is the Saviour — he who came to 


262 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


seek and to save the lost ? This is the inquiry which, 
overwhelming all other interests in our souls, should 
cause us to feel as the world know not how to feel under 
any circumstances, at the smallest portion of light vouch- 
safed us — the slightest degree of help extended towards 
us. The joy of the penitent at the encouraging of his 
hopes, is of a nature not to be expressed ; every evidence 
to the heart of the Christian, that he is indeed a child of 
God, produces a delight immeasurably beyond his who 
has discovered and secured to himself all the hid treas- 
ures of the earth. 

When these distinguished visiters reached the place 
where the Saviour lay, they did not become distrustful, 
or express disappointment, on account of the meanness 
of his accommodations ; neither were they unwilling to 
be found doing him reverence, and ministering to him of 
their possessions, notwithstanding the indifference with 
which he was generally viewed. They prostrated them- 
selves before him, and did him homage. This was ac- 
cording to a custom observed by persons in the East, 
when they appeared in the presence of kings. In this 
way, the wise men testified their belief in the divine mis- 
sion of the infant Jesus. Men of their serious character 
and inquiring minds, could not have neglected to con- 
verse with Joseph and Mary about the circumstances 
attending the birth of this wonderful child. All which 
they heard must have satisfied them more fully that he 
came into the world by the will of God ; and that he 
came to “ save his people from their sins.” As their 
knowledge increased, and they had further experience 


THE NATIVITY. 


263 


of the love and power of God, they had, of course, less 
“ fear for what man could do unto them ; ” and they 
were prepared to obey the warning given them in a 
dream, to return by another route to their home, disre- 
garding the request of Herod to let him know where the 
young child could be found. 

We know nothing more of these eastern philosophers; 
but can we doubt that the first who worshipped and pre- 
sented gifts before Christ on earth, will, hereafter, in 
company with the whole host of the redeemed, welcome 
to Christ’s glorious kingdom above, the last of those who 
may, through grace, believe to the saving of their souls ? 
All will rejoice together, and delight in recounting the 
wonderful providences of God, and the inestimable mercies 
manifested in the humility of his beloved Son. 

There is something of importance to be noticed in con- 
nection with the presentation of gifts to Jesus, besides 
the fact that it was an acknowledgment of his rightful 
claim to our worldly goods. Owing to the maliciousness 
of Herod, it was necessary that Joseph should “take the 
young child and his mother, and flee into Egypt,” and 
there remain for some time. Here was, therefore, a suffi- 
cient provision made for their support, — Jehovah Jireh ! 
God will provide ! When did he ever fail the Church in 
his good providence ? When he commands, when he 
calls us by. his Spirit, when he prompts us to go forward 
in endeavors to do what we believe will be for his glory, 
we never should allow ourselves to fear that his provi- 
dence will fail to open a way, and supply the adequate 
means. And when the rulers of the earth seem disposed 


264 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


to array themselves, with all their power and wealth, 
against us, their evil designs can be frustrated ; and, 
when necessary, kings and queens be made nursing- 
fathers and nursing-mothers to the church. And what 
encouragement we here have to offer gifts to Christ, when 
we know that God may be thus making us instruments 
for the preservation, yea, even for the extension and 
prosperity of his church ! 

No nations have ever been known, that had not some 
idea of the existence of a Supreme Being ; and, in some 
instances, people have been found who have expressed 
dissatisfaction with themselves and their religious knowl- 
edge, and longed to be rightly taught. Many may be 
now thus groping about seeking for a clearer and better 
acquaintance with the true God. They and others who 
have learned that there was to be, or has been, a revela- 
tion of mercy and love from on high, are thus anxiously 
sending forth to Christian lands the inquiry, “ Where is 
he who is born king of the Jews ? ” 

Can it be supposed that he who first sought, through 
Herod, the destruction of the infant Redeemer, is now 
any the less opposed to the progress of his kingdom ? 
We cannot comprehend why Satan is allowed existence, 
influence, and power. But it is so ; and to extend the 
reign of Heaven, the Holy Ghost condescends to dwell 
upon the earth, to prepare the way for the church, and to 
give it strength and glory among the nations of the earth. 

Do the hearts of Christians respond as fully as they 
should to these entreating calls? and are their hands 
stretched forth in love to draw within the fold of Christ 


THE NATIVITY. 


265 


the millions who are now “ perishing for lack of knowl- 
edge ? ” The Christian ought to know, that the more 
he seeks to extend the gospel, the more he will value and 
enjoy it himself. The sincere disciple of Jesus finds no 
greater pleasure than in spreading the Word of God ; 
in sustaining the ministry by which it is explained and 
enforced ; and in witnessing the light, and life, and joy 
produced through the influence of Christian truth. 

Reader! look upon the infant represented in the plate, 
nurtured by his mother’s care and preserved by a mighty 
Providence. Look within your heart and abroad in the 
world, and think of all that child accomplished during his 
subsequent youth and manhood. Thus may the u little 
leaven ” of pious truth which you may have it in your 
power to communicate, help to preserve many a soul 
from the wiles of Satan and from eternal death. God 
moves and teaches us to do good. He has promised his 
blessing. “ A little one shall become a thousand, and a 
small one a strong nation : I, the Lord, will hasten it in 
his time.” 


23 


JOSEPH AND MARY’S FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 


BY REV. J. W. ALVORD. 


He who deserved a palace, could find no room, even 
in “ an inn.” 

A stable only furnished him v T ith shelter ; its rude 
comforts were all he had ; and the only public attentions 
he at first received, were from shepherds and eastern 
magi. The former spread abroad the news of the Sa- 
viour’s birth ; the latter worshipped and presented costly 
gifts. 

As the wise men left, they were warned of God not to 
return to Herod. His jealousy had been aroused ; he 
feared a rival king ; and hatred to the coming Messiah 
led him already to plot for his destruction. Disappointed 
in his first treacherous intention, he now throws off the 
mask. That pretended desire to “worship him also,” 
vanished ; and his depraved heart broke forth in open, 
brutal ferocity. 

To make sure of the infant Jesus, he bade his soldiers 
murder every child in Bethlehem, “ from two years old 
and under,” certain that such a measure would ensnare 
and destroy his victim. But God watches over those he 
loves. Again the king was baffled in his bloody plan ; 
not but that blood flowed freely. The innocents of Beth- 


riii/rXo./X 




\Y’. L.OnusUv. NtnvYofrk 










Joseph and mary’s flight. 


267 


lehem died ; Rama was clothed in sackcloth, and Rachel 
wept, “ refusing to be comforted.” 

The sole object of Herod’s hatred,' however, escaped ; 
and while this dreadful butchery was going on, Joseph 
and Mary were beyond the city gates. Lonely, indeed, 
groping their way in darkness — for they went by night. 
But the child committed to their charge was safe. God 
had said, “ Arise, take the young child, and flee into 
Egypt, and be thou there until I bring thee word.” 

Saved by their obedience, this favored family remained 
in Egypt until a miserable death closed the career of 
Herod, and another dream warned them to return. 
Wicked men often bring about results directly contrary 
to their intentions. 

The above design upon the life of Christ was intended 
for his ruin, and the ruin of his cause. But it was, in 
fact, an acknowledgment that here was the person long 
looked for by the Jewish nation. The appearance of no 
one else could have so alarmed the king. The evidence 
of. this led him to pursue the course he did. “ Doubtless 
this is the Messiah,” said he ; “ but the world shall never 
know it.” Cost what it may, Herod determines to over- 
throw the plan of God by destroying his incarnate Son. 
But how, under an overruling Providence, he mistook his 
aim ! In this very attempt he fulfilled a most important 
prophecy, and unwittingly gave to the world his own 
belief in Christ’s divinity ! 

Herod’s conduct was as unnatural as it was cruel. 
Infancy excites compassion ; feebleness, wherever it is, 
draws us to its defence. What strange spirit of murder 


268 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


was that which here selected a victim so utterly helpless ! 
This child, moreover, w T as of noblest origin, and the king 
of Judea knew it. Here was another and a peculiar 
claim to his regard. The child even of a beggar by the 
wayside, though clad in filthiest rags, we pity. We do 
not pass it by without at least a look of kindness. Could 
we behold an infant king without interest ? Beautiful, 
helpless ; cradled now, but hereafter to be crowned and 
honored ! Tenderest emotions, in this case, would 
mingle with the sublime and sacred. But here was the 
cradled King of kings ! The extremes of being myste- 
riously united ; the coequal Son of God lowered to the 
feeblest specimen of humanity ; the loveliest, holiest 
thing this world had ever seen. But Herod w r ould pay 
it no deference ; give it no protection. He dared to 
strike rudely at its life ! Love of self banished even the 
common feelings of humanity ; and, enraged that his 
prey had eluded him, he adopts a method of seizing it, 
suited only to the temper of a savage. 

How pleasant in the contrast, is the quiet, yielding 
spirit of Joseph and Mary ! They attempt no resistance ; 
they linger not to plead the innocence of their babe, or 
its high claims. God and duty bade them leave their 
home, and seek a refuge among strangers. Cheerfully 
obeying, they prove their love as parents, their fidelity 
to their sacred charge, and their unwavering faith in 
God. 

There is an interest about this group who are leaving 
Bethlehem, difficult to describe. The voice in that 
dream had commanded them to hasten ; and there was 


Joseph and mary’s flight. 269 

no time to lose. Their conveyance — if any — was of 
the humblest kind. Their preparations ended, they leave 
the city silently, with throbbing hearts and trembling 
steps. Above them are clouds ; around them the chilly 
night air; and close to a mother’s bosom that babe is 
pressed. Joseph leads the way, thoughtful and solemn. 
Mary, “ pondering these things in her heart,” follows. 
Angels had told them of the divinity of their babe ; but 
about its brief history there was much which was myste- 
rious. “ Our spirits rejoice in God,” say they. “ Our 
soul doth magnify the Lord.” “ Blessed art thou, Mary, 
among women.” “ But why should God regard us in 
our low estate ? Is it possible that we have the training 
of the infant Saviour ? We, the most obscure in Israel, 
dwellers in despised Nazareth, who could find no lodging- 
place in Bethlehem, but a stable ? ” Thus, in humility, 
they question, not doubting the divine assurances, and 
yet filled with wonder and amazement. 

Ah! humble instruments are often called to exalted 
agencies. 

Still, they inquire, “ Why does not God with a 
stronger arm defend his chosen ? Why must the 
malignant Herod seem to triumph, and force this inno- 
cent one to exile ? Could not the Almighty arrest that 
bloody hand, and stay the passions of the king ? or 
destroy utterly an enemy so vile ? ” Yes, we answer, 
but know ye that human depravity must hereby reveal 
itself. Satan has power for a season. Faith needs 
trial ; and God’s service on earth is joined with sacrifice. 
You, in this ignominious flight, are to show that a yield- 


23* 


270 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


ing spirit is often obedience to God ; and that humiliation 
always comes before his fullest favor. 

But who, though he be a distant observer, can dw T ell 
upon this scene, and think of Christ as a fugitive, without 
deep emotion ? No sooner born, than made to fly from 
those whom he came to save. Flying for his life, that 
he might live and labor for the eternal life of those who 
hated him ! How consummate in evil is the human 
heart ! How blind, and mad, and desperate ! And 0, 
how lofty and pure is divine compassion ! That troop of 
angels who announced his birth might, with flaming 
swords, have hovered round their Lord, and saved him 
from flight, and from the hand of violence. But no ; he 
had committed himself to man ; and for our sakes he was 
to be subject to all the violence and cruelty of human 
passion. 

Ye whose hope is in him who once was this fugitive 
from Judea, let your hope be strong. He,- escaping from 
the hand of violence, lived to finish his atoning work. 
And he has provided for your escape from a death more 
terrible than Herod could inflict. Fear not, then ; nor 
withhold from him your fullest confidence. In no case 
will his deep-laid plans of mercy ever be frustrated. 

Nor shall the righteous long remain in obscurity. As 
God once called his ancient people out of Egypt, and in 
due time summoned from thence his exiled Son, so will 
he say, ere long, to all his captive ones : “ Your enemies 
are no more.” “ Come forth from your oppressions ; 
and with songs, -return ye to the promised land.” 

Death, as in this case, shall terminate the career of 


JOSEPH AND MARY’S FLIGHT. 


271 


the wicked ; but the righteous shall triumph and live. 
Long ago worms devoured the loathsome carcase of the 
proud king of Judea ; while Jesus, that persecuted 
infant, lives. Far above the assaults of wicked men he 
lives, and reigns ; and his gospel is gathering millions to 
honor him on earth, and grace his final triumph. 




CHRIST RAISING LAZARUS FROM THE DEAD. 


BY REV. CORNELIUS C. VANARSDALE, D.D. 


Who has not looked upon the blanched cheek and 
marble brow of the dead ? Who has not felt the 
crushing agony which death inflicts, when it snatches 
from our arms and bears away from our sight one whom 
we have fondly loved, and who fondly loved us ? What 
oppressive woe steals over the heart, and settles upon 
every thought and feeling of our nature, when the last 
struggle is ended, and the last faint breath is hushed ; 
and all that remains to us of the being we have loved is 
the memory of the past, and the cold-pale corpse of the 
dead ! 

So was it with Martha and Mary, when Lazarus their 
brother was no more. A little family of orphans, con- 
sisting only of these three, they had lived together in all 
tender sympathy and warm affection. They were a 
pious, and therefore an ardently-attached and happy 
family ; for we are told that “ Jesus loved Martha, and 
her sister, and Lazarus.” Of this little household, Laza- 
rus had been the support and the joy. With all the 
affection and devotion of a brother, he had employed his 
powers and his time in promoting their happiness and 
welfare ; and, above all, in being studious of their spirit- 


LAZARUS RAISED TO LIFE. 


2X3 


ual and immortal peace. The occupations and charities 
of the day had been aided by his counsels and cheered 
by his smiles ; and the evening hours had been made 
bright and joyous by his presence. Fondly and closely 
had the hearts of that happy household become entwined 
with and clung to each other; not a chord could be 
touched in one, but its vibrations extended to the others ; 
not a joy nor a sorrow could be felt in one, which gave 
not joy or sorrow to all. Now, alas ! the golden chain 
was broken. Lazarus was dead ! With all the deep 
solicitude and tenderness of love, the energetic Martha 
and the gentle Mary had watched, day and night, by 
their brother’s side, and ministered to his wants. In the 
depth of their distress they thought of Jesus, their divine 
but absent friend ;• and, in reliance on his sympathy and 
power, they despatched a messenger to him, with the 
word : “ Lord, behold, he whom thou lovest is sick.” 
J esus loved Lazarus ; and as they knew this, and knew 
of his power to .heal the sick, they naturally suppose that 
this simple message, this tender appeal, is all that is 
necessary, to secure his presence and his aid in this hour 
of need. And yet the Master came not. With what 
earnest hope did they long to see his familiar form, and 
to hear the well-known accents of his gentle voice. But 
hope as often died away in gloom, till at last the hour 
had come — that awful hour — when the choice treasure 
of the heart is torn away, and life’s most cherished tie is 
severed. Bending above that gasping form, with love 
and grief that words cannot describe, they watched the 


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last faint breathings of his life till all was still, and they 
were desolate. 

They had followed now those dear remains to the 
narrow house appointed for the dead, and seen them laid 
within the damp and silent sepulchre. Then, with slow, 
reluctant steps, they had returned to their long bright, 
now lonely and oppressive home. 0 ! is it not then 
that we most sensibly feel the awful void which death 
produces ? While even the pale-cold form is left us, we 
may sit close by its side, gaze on those sealed lips, and 
almost hear them speak as they were wont ; we may 
watch the pallid brow, grasp the icy hand, though all be 
motionless, and feel we are not quite alone. But, when 
we have left those sacred relics in the grave; when we 
pass again the threshold where the loved one used to 
meet us with sweet smiles, and see him there no more ; 
when we enter again our home, and find the place he 
occupied now vacant ; when we go from room to room, 
where every object is associated with the image of the 
past, and vividly reminds us of our painful loss ; when, 
go where we may, we see him not, and hear no more that 
voice familiar and long dear to us ; is it not then, in the 
deep, the agonizing sense of loneliness and desolation 
which settles on the soul, and throws a pall of gloom on 
all things, 4hat we most keenly feel the mournful triumphs 
of the great destroyer — Death ? 

Four long and dreary days had now thus passed in the 
sad house at Bethany. There sat the two fond sisters, 
mingling their tears and lamentations. There, too, were 
gathered “ many Jews,” who, moved by sympathy, had 


LAZARUS RAISED TO LIFE. 


275 


come to soothe their sorrow, and to “ comfort them 
concerning their brother.” Striking example of the 
power of grief, to soften and melt down the sharp 
asperities of human creeds, And yet, alas ! how power- 
less is human sympathy to heal a wounded heart, to bring 
back the departed, or give joy to those who are be- 
reaved. And now, when all seemed hopeless, when even 
the mighty doors of death divided them from him they 
loved, and foul corruption marred the features long so 
dear, they are told “ Jesus is coming.” Doubtless the 
sorrowing sisters had often said, “ If Jesus had been 
here, our brother had not died.” And, with this thought 
still weighing on her mind, Martha goes forth to meet 
him. Perhaps her language is reproachful of his long 
delay, yet is it the language of a bleeding heart ; lan- 
guage which intimates that now the severest loss of earth 
has been sustained, its most bitter grief inflicted ; while, 
at the same time, it is also the language of faith and con- 
fidence : of faith, in the power of Christ to heal the sick ; 
and of confidence in his affection, that, if he had wit- 
nessed the sufferings of her brother, his love would have 
prompted him to exert that healing power. “ Lord,” 
said she, “ if thou hadst been here, my brother had not 
died.” As she thus communes with Jesus, and pours 
forth her sorrows in the ear of her divine friend, at least 
a dim and shadowy hope of some unknown relief springs 
up, where all before had been despair. Therefore she 
adds, “ But I know, that, even now, whatsoever thou wilt 
ask of God, God will give it thee.” Jesus replied: 
u Thy brother shall rise again.” “I know,” said she, 


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u that he shall rise again, in the resurrection at the last 
day.” Thus clearly implying, that whatever her faith in 
the power and love of Christ was, she regarded him 
rather as a prophet, or servant of God, than as the incar- 
nate Deity, who in himself possessed and could exercise 
divine power. She did not suppose, therefore, that he 
could raise the dead ; though she avows her belief that 
they shall be raised, by the power of God, in the general 
resurrection of the last day. Whereupon our Lord de- 
clares : “I am the resurrection and the life; he that 
believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live : 
and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never 
die.” In which words our Lord plainly declares, that it 
is by his power that those who believe in him, with a true 
faith, shall be raised from the dead in the general resur- 
rection ; and by his power, also, those who then live and 
believe in him shall be made spiritual and immortal ; and 
so enter upon the state of the blessed, without ever pass- 
ing through the pains of death. “ Whosoever [then] 
liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.” The faith 
of Martha having been thus directed to Jesus, as to him 
in whom rested that divine power by which the dead 
were to be raised in the general resurrection, and by 
which saints then living were to be made immortal, she 
hastens to call her sister to the Master also ; and Mary, 
as quickly hurrying to her Lord, in the depth of her 
sorrow and humility falls down at his feet, exclaiming : 
“Lord, if thou hadst been here my brother had not 
died.” This repeated expression of intense sorrow, and 
yet of confidence and love ; the sight of Martha, strug- 


LAZARUS RAISED TO LIFE. 


277 


gling against and striving to bear up under oppressive 
grief ; Rnd the bitter lamentations and tears of the gentle 
and deeply-afflicted Mary, wringing tears of sympathy 
also from the Jews, who had followed her steps; pre- 
sented a scene of woe which the benevolent heart of the 
Saviour could not withstand ; and, “ groaning in spirit,” 
he said, “ Where have ye laid him ? ” As they ap- 
proached the grave in which the body of his friend 
reposed, as he beheld the bereaved and sorrowing sis- 
ters, and the Jews mourning with them, his own tender 
and compassionate spirit was subdued, and “Jesus 
wept ! ” 

And now they are gathered around the sepulchre, in 
which sleeps the beloved and pious dead; the stone 
which laid upon it is taken away; and Jesus, having 
acknowledged with thanksgiving the faithfulness of the 
Father, “ Cried, with a loud voice, Lazarus come forth. 
And he that was dead came forth.” 

Such, in all the simplicity of truth, is the narrative of 
this wonderful event, as recorded on the inspired page. 
And our Lord, by whom it was wrought, tells us, that the 
great object of this miracle was “ for the glory of God, 
that the Son of God might be glorified thereby.” Ey 
which we are certainly taught that the glory of the Son 
of God is identical with the glory of God ; that God the 
Father is glorified in that which glorifies the Son. And 
as the manifestation of the divine glory is, at the same 
time, the highest good to man, — as the more clearly we 
behold the attractions of the Deity, the more sensibly do 
we feel their elevating and sanctifying power, — therefore 


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278 SACRED TABLEAUX. 

it was also for the welfare and happiness, especially the 
immortal happiness of man, that our blessed Lord made 
this astonishing display of his divine perfections. 

How was this miracle adapted to bring glory to the 
Son of God, for example, by the striking illustration it 
afforded of his divine knowledge and wisdom ? 

Though probably about thirty miles distant from these 
scenes, in which his distressed friends were so deeply 
interested, it is evident that he was perfectly acquainted 
with all that occurred respecting them. He received 
the message that Lazarus was sick.; but this he knew 
without being told, just as certainly as he knew, two days 
after, without being told, that Lazarus was dead. His 
wisdom is equally manifest, even in that delay which so 
severely tried the faith of his friends, and which ap- 
peared to indicate indifference to their wishes. He saw 
the end ; and he knew that this very trial of their faith 
was ultimately to confirm their faith ; that this very sor- 
row, in proportion as it was now severe, was to be turned 
into joy correspondingly great, and far more enduring. 
Therefore, when he was told “ that Lazarus was sick, he 
abode two days still in the same place where he was.” 
By this means, without subjecting himself to the importu- 
nities of his friends, to heal their sick brother, he secured 
an opportunity to manifest most clearly his miraculous or 
divine powers in raising one who was known by all to be 
really dead ; and thus to confer even on Lazarus himself, 
and on Martha and Mary, and all his disciples, — nay, on 
all to whom the account of this miracle might descend, 
the happy results which it was adapted to effect. The 


LAZARUS RAISED TO LIFE. 279 

very fact, therefore, which Martha, in her weak faith, 
regarded as rendering every effort useless, and preelud- 
ing all hope, namely, that her brother had been dead 
four days, and by that time began to corrupt, only served 
to make more manifest the reality and extent of the mir- 
acle, and to display more strikingly the power and good- 
ness of the Redeemer. And is it not adapted to direct 
our thoughts to J esus ? to inspire our greater confi- 
dence in, and devotion to him, when we are thus assured 
that he has a perfect knowledge of all our circumstances, 
our trials, and our sorrows ? Is it not adapted to make 
us more trustful in him, and in the same, degree to give 
us comfort in the time of trouble, when we thus see 
how, by his infinite wisdom, he can, and, if we are his 
friends, he will, cause those things which we most- lament 
or fear, to result in our highest good, and our most satis- 
fying and enduring joy? Truly j “ he is made of God 
unto us wisdom and by submitting ourselves and all 
our affairs to his gracious disposal, we shall secure the 
exercise of his divine wisdom in our behalf. To every 
tried and sorrowing heart ; to every doubting and dis- 
trustful spirit, therefore, his language i§, as it was to 
Martha in her grief and fear, “ Said I not unto thee, 
that if thou wouldest believe, thou shouldest see the 
glory of God ? ” 

Not less is this miracle adapted to glorify our blessed 
Lord, by the illustration it affords of his compassion for 
and sympathy with his tried and afflicted friends. 

We are told in this narrative that, as Jesus approached 
the dwelling in Bethany, — that dwelling where so often 


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he had been a welcome guest ; where he had passed 
many hours in sweet communings with his pious friends ; 
as the disconsolate mourners, with bleeding hearts, and 
eyes filled with tears, now came forth to meet him ; as 
he heard their bitter lamentations, — “ he groaned in the 
spirit, and was troubled; ” and as with them he drew 
near to the sepulchre in which their brother and his 
friend was buried, “ Jesus wept ! ” Combining in himself 
the wisdom of his divine, with all the warmest affections 
and more tender sympathies of his human nature, though 
he knew that in a moment that scene of anguish should be 
changed for one of unspeakable delight ; though he knew 
that the lamented dead was soon to arise from that silent 
tomb, in life and health, yet was his generous heart sub- 
dued even to tears, as with those bereaved and mourning 
sisters he stood over the grave of one so dear to them, and 
so dear to him, — and u Jesus wept!” The grave of a 
friend, to the affectionate heart of Jesus, w T as a hallowed 
spot. Precious was the tribute with which, in this in- 
stance, it was sanctified ; and how tenderly endeared to us 
for those generous tears, is he who stands weeping there. 
Let the proud stoic who boasts that he is above sorrow, 
and who despises the man that weeps, look upon this 
scene, and blush. He who can behold his friends sor- 
rowful, without mingling his tears with theirs ; who can 
look on the cold corpse of one who loved him, and not 
weep ; who can witness the awful triumphs of that death 
which is one of the visible effects of sin, and not mourn ; 
he who can see all the high purposes, the noble aspirings, 
the honorable pursuits, the generous services, and the 


LAZARUS RAISED TO LIFE. 


281 


fond and tender associations of life, thus cut off and sun- 
dered by the stroke of death, and yet be insensible, 
deserves not the name of man ; he is a monster, unworthy 
of our trust, and more unworthy of our love or friendship. 

“ Jesus wept!” We admire, we adore him, for his 
wisdom ; but we honor, we love him, for his tears. They 
show us the affection of his heart ; they bring him nearer 
to us as one who, like ourselves, can know what sorrow 
is ; they teach us how truly, how deeply, he sympathizes 
with us, if we also are his friends, in all the woes and 
trials of our present lot. Since “ he is the same yester- 
day, to-day, and for ever,” therefore, though he has now 
passed beyond the reach of mortal vision, and is seated 
on his throne ; though surrounded by all the effulgent 
glories and imperishable felicities of his heavenly home, 
he is still the same. He is as wise, as affectionate, as 
compassionate, and benevolent now, as when he stood 
over the grave of his friend Lazarus. Those who believe 
in him may know, therefore, that they have “ an advocate 
with the Father,” “ a high priest” in the heavenly tem- 
ple, who can be, and who is, “ touched with the feeling 
of their infirmities ; ” who hears their every sigh, regards 
their every prayer, and tenderly sympathizes with them 
in every sorrow they are called to bear. How sweet, 
how sustaining is this truth, to the bleeding or the bur- 
dened heart: “ Jesus, the all-wise, the ever-gracious 
and merciful friend of man, knows and pities my dis- 
tress ! ” Look up, thou tossed and troubled child of 
vicissitude, misfortune, or woe. Let thy desponding and 
agitated breast be cheered, for thou hast still a friend, — 

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SACRED TABLEAUX. 


a friend who is acquainted even with the hidden wounds of 
thy spirit ; who knows the perplexities, the anxious cares, 
the oppressive griefs that weigh so heavily upon thy 
soul ; and who is as ready to feel thy sorrows, as, in his 
wisdom and power, he is able to remove them, or cause 
them to result in thy higher good and everlasting joy. 
Art thou a mourner ? Has death entered thy dwelling, 
and smitten down one who was precious to thy heart ? 
Hast thou stood by the opened grave or sepulchre, as it 
received a form that was dear to thee, and looked down 
into its darkness, even when tears were gushing from 
thine eyes, as there they laid thy treasure ? And now, 
when lonely, or when from the busy scenes of life memory 
wanders mournfully away to that hallowed spot, and calls 
up again the friend who is crumbling there to dust, is 
thy soul oppressed with sadness ? and do tears of anguish 
still tremble in thine eyes ? 0, remember that he who 

wept with those weeping friends looks with compassion 
on thy grief. Cast, then, thy cares on him. Repose in 
him thy trust, and he will change thy mourning into 
gladness. The parent bereaved of a darling child, and 
the child bereaved of an affectionate and tender parent ; 
the lonely widow, and the husband weeping over the 
grave in which the cherished companion of his bosom 
reposes with the dead; the brother, or sister, or the 
fondly-attached friend, who is mourning the frailty of 
life’s endearing ties, may still find consolation and sup- 
port in the assurance that their sorrows are not unknown 
or unfelt by him who wept over the tomb of Lazarus. 
And especially may the penitent and broken-hearted 


LAZARUS RAISED TO LIFE. 


283 


sinner, who is mourning over his folly, ingratitude, and 
guilt ; who is earnestly, and with a godly sorrow, seek- 
ing deliverance from the curse and the dominion of sin, 
find comfort and hope in the certainty that he who wept 
tears of pity with those who were weeping under the 
afflictions of time, will much more pity and deliver him 
whose heart is burdened with sorrow for sin, and who is 
devoutly striving, to attain salvation from eternal death. 
In short, whatever may be the source or nature of our 
sorrow ; whether it proceed from the afflictions and trials 
of time, or from spiritual conflicts and anxieties, of this 
we may be confident, if indeed we are or truly seek to be 
the friends of Jesus, we also have an all-wise, affectionate, 
and sympathizing friend in him, in whose attentive ear 
we may tell all our wants and woes, and be assured that 
he has a heart as ready to feel for us, and a hand as able 
to help us, as when on earth he wept with his mourning 
friends, and never failed to succor or to bless those who 
looked to him for aid. 

How does this miracle also glorify the Son of God, in 
the exhibition it affords of his divine power ! 

When Jesus asked, “ Where have ye laid him ? ” their 
reply was, “ Come and see.” And now, as this company 
of mourners and spectators are gathered around the 
grave of Lazarus, we may say, Come and see the dead 
raised ; the corpse, already decomposing, reanimated 
with new life and vigor. Come and see the Son of God 
glorified ! 

Take your place, then, with those who surround that 
silent sepulchre. As the stone is taken away, and as 


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SACRED TABLEAUX. 


Jesus steps forward, see the expression of surprise and 
wonder which marks every countenance ; see, how some 
are looking on in doubt, others in unbelief, and others, 
still, perhaps, even in scorn ; but see, especially, with what 
deep solicitude and anxious hope the bereaved sisters are 
gazing on the scene. So it has ever been, and so it is 
still. The disposition and temper of the mind and heart 
determine the aspect in which things appear to us ; and 
this is strikingly manifest in matters of religious faith and 
hope. 

But the sepulchre is opened, and there lies the insen- 
sible and decaying corpse. For a moment all are hushed 
and motionless "vyith solemn awe ; and then, over the 
body of the dead, Jesus lifts up his eyes to Heaven. He 
thanks the Giver of Life, for bestowing on him the power 
to restore it when it has been taken away, to impart 
comfort and joy to his sorrowing friends, and to make 
the darkest scenes even of death itself radiant with 
the hope of a renewed and blissful life. Then “ he 
cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth ! ” And now 
again with what intense curiosity, or anxious hope, is the 
gaze of all fixed on that lifeless and decaying form. But 
see, even “ the dull, cold ear of death ” hears and obeys his 
voice ; that heart, which was still, i-s now throbbing with 
life ; the pale cheeks . resume their former hue ; the 
sunken eyes open ; the breath returns ; the limbs move ; 
the insensible and putrefying form is again animated ; he 
lives, he lives ! “ And he that was. dead came forth!” 
0 ! how was unbelief confounded, doubt dissipated, 
faith confirmed, and love and hope rewarded; 


LAZARUS RAISED TO LIFE. 


285 


But who shall describe, who can conceive, the joy of 
those lately bereaved and sorrowing, and now happy 
sisters, as their living brother is given back to them from 
the corruption of the grave ? And then, with what in- 
creased affection for and delight in each other ; and with 
what firm faith, and peaceful trust, and holy confidence, 
in their gracious Redeemer ; with what ardent gratitude 
to him, and love for him, and additional joy in him, do 
they return to their home, before so desolate and sad, but 
now again so bright and happy. Since, therefore, our 
blessed Lord hath thus manifested his power, in raising 
even the dead from the corruption of the grave, in 
restoring joy to the disconsolate, and in giving happiness 
to those who thought themselves plunged, beyond the 
reach of hope, in the depths of woe, is there any evil 
from which he is not able to deliver and save us ? Is 
there any sorrow however great, any apprehension how- 
ever appalling, any suffering however severe, from which 
he cannot, in his own time and way, deliver us ? Surely, 
then, if we repose our trust in him, if we are truly his 
followers and friends, we may, without fear, commit our- 
selves and all our affairs to his hands. In him we have a 
friend who knows all our sorrows and our wants, who 
most tenderly feels for us, and who possesses and will 
manifest Almighty power in our salvation. 

In this miracle the Son of God is also glorified, by the 
example it affords of his faithfulness to those who are his 
friends. 

When the message which they had sent to Jesus, 
“ Lord, behold, he whom thou lovest is sick,” was deliv- 


286 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


ered to him, no doubt these deeply-distressed sisters of 
Lazarus indulged the hope, that either he would hasten 
at once to their relief, or that he would speak the word 
and their brother should be healed. It may be, that the 
messenger had returned to them with the reply of J esus : 
“ This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of • 
God, that the Son of God might be glorified thereby ; ” 
and though our Lord evidently meant that this sickness 
should not result in the final separation of the soul from 
the body, yet they may have understood by it that his 
malady should not prove mortal ; and, therefore, they 
were probably looking every hour for the recovery of 
their sick brother. .But their hopes, even from this only 
true and substantial source of hope, seemed to be disap- 
pointed, and vain. The Master neither came to his sor- 
rowing friends, nor did he speak the word to restore their 
brother, nor did they perceive any abatement of his dis- 
ease. On the contrary, it was evident that his sickness 
was making rapid and' fearful progress ; he was sinking 
every hour ; and it must have been just as the messenger 
returned, or soon after, that their brother gasped arid 
died. What a trial was this to their faith, what a blight 
to their hopes, what an apparent disregard of their sor- 
row, their confidence, and their love. They had seen 
the door of the sepulchre closed over the lifeless body 
of the brother whom they so fondly loved ; they had 
returned to their gloomy and desolate home ; four long 
and sorrowful days had passed slowly away, since death 
had torn from them the chief treasure of earth ; and* their 
sad hearts had yielded to a grief, which now seemed to 


LAZARUS RAISED TO LIFE. 


28T 


be without remedy. But mark the faithfulness of their 
divine friend. It is evident that, though after he received 
their message “ he abode two days still in the same 
place where he was ; ” though he knew all the sorrows of 
his friends in Bethany, saw every tear, and heard every 
sigh and every prayer of their agitated and troubled 
hearts ; though his compassionate spirit felt deeply for 
them, as they were passing through this furnace ; yet, as 
he knew also that this severe trial was to result in their 
highest good ; as he saw that they were to be advanced 
by it ; and made more spiritual, and holy, and happy in 
their immortal nature, by the sufferings through which 
for a time they were called to pass ; therefore it was the 
depth of his interest in them, the ardor of his love for 
them, which prompted him to resist the dictates of his 
sympathy and affection, and to delay his return. But 
when the time necessary for the accomplishment of his 
high and gracious purposes had elapsed, see with what a 
ready and determined spirit he hurries to Bethany, — 
even though his disciples say to him, “Master, the Jews 
of late sought to stone thee ; and goest thou thither 
again ? ” That he may rescue his friend Lazarus from 
the grave ; that he may soothe and turn into joy the sor- 
rows of those who trusted in him for aid ; that he may 
manifest his wisdom, power, sympathy, and faithfulness ; 
through fatigue and privation, and in the very face of 
danger and of death, does he urge his way to Bethany. 
And when his bereaved friends were mourning under a 
grief which now seemed hopeless, at least for this life, 


288 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


then does the Son of God appear in their midst, to their 
unspeakable delight and profit. 

Strikingly, therefore, does this miracle illustrate the 
faithfulness of Jesus to those who put their trust in him. 
Though, for wise and benevolent purposes, he may delay 
his answers to their prayers, and leave them for a time in 
perplexity or sorrow, yet will he never forsake them, 
but will ultimately far exceed their highest hopes. 

And now, who is there that feels not a personal and 
deep interest in this wonderful display of the knowledge 
and wisdom, of the compassion and sympathy, of the 
power and faithfulness, of the Son of God ? Who is 
there that does not know, from experience, that, though 
human life may have its cherished ties, its bright hopes, 
its transitory joys, it is still a scene of trial and sorrow, 
of incessant and painful changes, and of distressing fears 
and anxious cares ? Here, then, may we hail with 
delight this exhibition of the Son of God ; and, glorifying 
him in our hearts, as the wisest and the best of friends, 
we commit ourselves to his hands in the full confidence of 
faith and love. Especially may the soul burdened with a 
sense of sin, anxiously seeking deliverance from its curse 
and power, look up with gratitude and hope to him who 
is the sorrowing sinner’s friend. Who is there, also, that 
has no treasure of the heart reposing with the dead ? no 
fond companion of former and of happier days, now 
crumbling into dust ? Ah ! to the bereaved and troubled 
spirit, which mourns the long and dreary absence of one 
it fondly loved, if, of that departed one, Jesus can say, 


LAZARUS RAISED TO LIFE. 


289 


“ Our friend sleepeth,” how rich in comfort and in hope 
must be this record of inspired truth. The friends of 
Jesus, though here they may be called in sadness and in 
tears to part, shall meet again to part no more. And 0 ! 
how will the raptures of that meeting be enhanced, by 
the very separation which, for a time, they had to bear. 
The day is coming, when he who called Lazarus from the 
dead, in like manner shall give new and immortal life to 
all who sleep in him. Only, therefore, become the fol- 
lower, the friend of Jesus, and soon will he give back to 
your arms those Christian friends over whose graves you 
now weep ; and in yet warmer love, and holier fellowship, 
and everlasting joy, shall they be your companions for 
eternity. 

But to every dying, yet immortal being, what impressive 
lessons, what blessed consolations, does the holy record of 
this miracle reveal. However we may indulge our 
doubts about other matters, we know that we must die ; 
we know the day is coming, when our eyes shall close on 
all earthly objects ; when our hearts shall cease to beat ; 
when our bodies shall be cold and motionless in death ; 
and when they shall be consigned to that narrow house 
appointed for all the living. But the word of God as- 
sures us, that we shall not be left for ever in the grave ; 
that we also shall hear the voice of the Son of God, and 
come forth. And with this actual example of the ability 
of Christ to raise the dead, even after the work of cor- 
ruption had commenced, we have less cause to wonder, as 
we hear him say, “ The hour is coming, in the which all 
that are in the graves shall hear his voice, and shall come 


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SACRED TABLEAUX. 


forth : they that have done good, unto the resurrection of 
life ; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection 
of damnation.” 

Reader, which have you reason to expect for yourself ? 
Are you now the friend, the follower, the servant of 
Jesus, or are you not? Are you doing good, or are you 
doing evil ? The honest answer to these questions deter- 
mines whether you have authority to hope for a “ resur- 
rection of life,” or whether you have reason to expect 
only “ the resurrection of damnation.” 






























































































































% 



\V. Ii.Ormsbv, N»*\v York. 




* 










CHRIST INSTITUTING HIS LAST SUPPER. 


BY THE RIGHT REV. BISHOP HENSHAW. 

Most of the incidents connected with the closing 
scene of our Master’s life on earth, are of a sorrowful 
character. When we read, in the simple narrative of 
the Evangelists, of his denial by Peter ; his betrayal by 
Judas ; his arraignment before the high priest and the 
Roman governor ; the mockery of his regal claims by a 
brutal soldiery ; the sentence of death extorted from a 
pusillanimous judge by the clamor of an infuriated mob ; 
and his crucifixion in company with malefactors, our 
minds are agitated by painful emotions of sympathy with 
the innocent sufferer ; of astonishment at the weakness 
of his timid disciples ; and of indignation against the 
cruelty of his malignant persecutors. 

But these incidents were immediately preceded by the 
institution of a solemn rite, which furnishes a key to 
unlock all the mysteries connected with the agony in the 
Garden ; the buffetting ; the spitting ; the scourging ; 
the dolorous cry which terminated the life of the u Man 
of Sorrows.” The record of that institution has an ele- 
vating and soothing influence upon our minds. It pre- 
pares us to contemplate the subsequent events with 
calmness, tranquillity, and gratitude, by teaching us that 


292 


SACKED TABLEAUX. 


they were necessary to our salvation ; that J esus was 
“ wounded for our transgressions, and bruised for our 
iniquities ; that the chastisement of our peace was upon 
him, and through his stripes we are healed.” 

As Redemption is the central doctrine of the Christian 
revelation, so the Lord’s Supper is the central ordinance 
of the Christian church ; and in it there is a concentra- 
tion and substantial embodiment of all the great truths, 
and privileges, and obligations of the Christian life. Yet, 
alas ! how many who attend upon it have false or in- 
adequate conceptions of its nature ! How many more, 
calling themselves Christians, profanely neglect this 
holiest rite of our religion ! 

If the present brief article should have any tendency 
to extend correct views of its nature, and to encourage a 
reverent and devout reception of it, the writer will be 
abundantly rewarded. 

The Lord’s Supper is a memorial. Our Saviour ac- 
companied its institution with the command, “ Do this in 
remembrance of me.” Are we, then, to believe that it 
is merely a remembrancer of a departed friend — only a 
commemoration of the fact of his death ? This common 
opinion is unworthy of this high ordinance, and reduces 
it to a level with common tokens of worldly friendship, 
and the stated commemoration of important events in the 
history of the world, such as the birthday of nations or 
of distinguished individuals. But how far does this fall 
short of the spirit and intent of our Lord’s command ? 
That command binds his disciples to do as he then did. 
“ He took bread, and blessed it, and gave it to them, saying, 


THE LORD’S SUPPER. 


293 


Take, eat ; this is my body, which is given for you. He 
took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, 
saying, Drink ye all, of this ; for this is my blood of the 
New Testament, which is shed for you and for many for 
the remission of sins. Do this, as oft as ye shall drink 
it, in remembrance of me.” 

Our Lord Jesus Christ, then, as the high priest of our 
profession, solemnly gave himself up to the Eternal 
Father, as the sacrifice for our sins, and gave himself to 
his disciples to be their spiritual food and nourishment in 
that holy sacrament. We give no countenance to the 
figment of transubstantiation introduced in the ninth cen- 
tury. We loathe it, as comprising absurdity and idola- 
try. But we must maintain the necessity of a sacerdotal 
or ministerial act, in blessing or consecrating the elements 
to a sacramental use, and solemnly offering them before 
God. This is an essential part of our Lord’s command. 
“ Do this ; ” that is, Do as I have done. This is essential 
to constitute it a memorial of the death of Christ as a 
sacrifice for sin. Viewed simply as a memorial, how 
powerfully does the Lord’s Supper exhibit and enforce 
some of the fundamental doctrines of our religion ! It 
has a creed wrapped up in it. In it “ Jesus Christ is 
evidently set forth as crucified before our eyes.” It 
impressively teaches the truth of our depravity and guilt ; 
and that Christ “ redeemed us from the curse of the law, 
being made a curse for us.” In that ordinance, we are 
taught a solution of the problem, “ How can man become 
just with God ? ” for therein Christ is “ set forth to be a 
propitiation, through faith in his blood.” The act of 


25 * 


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receiving this sacrament teaches us that we are depend- 
ent on Christ, not only for imparting, but maintaining, 
spiritual life in our souls ; and that we must live by faith 
upon the Son of God, who hath loved us, and given him- 
self for us. 

“ Sacraments,” says Waterland, “ are the true hooks 
(or serving as books), both to the learned and unlearned; 
full of lively imagery and instructive emblem, drawn by 
Christ himself, and left as his legacies for the use of all 
his churches.” We derive moral instruction and benefit 
from them, as deaf mutes do from the language of signs. 
As representative and symbolical acts, they exercise a 
most important influence in strengthening the faith of the 
individual Christian, and perpetuating sound doctrine in 
the church. The instruction given by imagery in the 
Lord’s Supper relates, as we have seen, to some of the 
most important points in our holy religion. 

While the Lord’s Supper, as a memorial, sets forth the 
leading facts of the Gospel, and is a permanent witness 
to the divinely-instituted economy of man’s redemption, 
it does also, as a communion, embody, and convey, and 
assure to the faithful, the highest privileges which they 
are capable of enjoying. 

To consider it merely as one mode of professing our 
faith in Christ, and our love for his disciples, is unworthy 
of its high character, and shows a lamentable ignorance 
of its true claims to our reverent regard. Is it to be 
viewed, like one of the ceremonies of the law, as a mere 
“ shadow of good things ? ” A scenic, outward, unsub- 
stantial representation of spiritual blessings ? This view, 


THE LORD’S SUPPER. 


295 


assuredly, would not correspond with the language of the 
New Testament, or with the views entertained by the 
great body of the faithful in all ages. For, although it 
is a gross error to invest the sacrament with talismanic 
power, as necessarily conveying grace to all recipients, 
without regard to their qualifications, yet it is an equal 
error to speak of them as bare signs and empty shadows 
to the true believer. If we duly receive them, they are 
“ sure witnesses and effectual signs of grace and God’s 
good-will towards us, by the which he doth work invisibly 
in us ; and doth not only quicken, but also strengthen 
and confirm our faith in him.” 

As the Eternal Son of God, to effect our redemption, 
was “ manifest in the flesh,” and was incorporated into our 
nature, so we obtain and enjoy the blessings of salvation, 
by being incorporated into him. With this incorporation, 
the two sacraments are intimately connected. “ For by 
one Spirit we are all baptized into one body.” “ The 
bread which we break, is it not the communion of the 
body of Christ ? For we, being many, are one bread and 
one body ; for we are all partakers of that one bread.” 
Countless grains of wheat, grown in different fields, and 
ground together into common flour, formed into one mass 
of bread, furnish the type of that indispensable union 
that exists in the church of Christ, composed of innumer- 
able individuals, gathered out of different countries and 
nations, yet partakers of one hope, and animated by a 
common spirit. How close and affectionate the relation 
between those affiliated Christians who are “ members one 
of another l ” It is, however, not only a “ communion 


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SACRED TABLEAUX. 


of saints ” with each other, but with their common Lord, 
who is “Head over all things to the church, which is his 
body.” “ Ye are the body of Christ, and members in 
particular.” Our incorporation into Christ is recognized 
and maintained in this holy sacrament. “ The cup which 
we bless, is it not the communion of the blood of Christ ? 
The bread which we break, is it not the communion of 
the body of Christ ? ” “ It is on all sides plainly con- 

fessed,” says the judicious Hooker, “that this sacrament 
is a true and real participation of Christ ; who thereby 
imparteth himself, even his whole entire person, as a 
mystical head unto every soul that receive th him ; and 
that every such receiver doth incorporate or unite him- 
self unto Christ, as a mystical member of him.” 

This communion with Christ, exhibited and maintained 
by the Lord’s Supper, is the root and fountain of all 
Christian privileges. Are we in Christ ? Then are we 
secured against the curse of the law ; for “ there is no 
condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus.” Are 
we one with Christ, as members of his mystical body, 
united to and living upon him by faith ? Then are we 
interested in all that he did and suffered for the salvation 
of men. Through his blood, we have redemption. Through 
his righteousness, we are justified. By his Spirit we are 
renewed. His grace will strengthen us for all the duties, 
and comfort us under all the afflictions of life. Faith in 
his promises, will insure us victory over death. In judg- 
ment, his mercy will acquit us ; and through eternity we 
shall live and triumph with our glorified Head. 

All these unspeakable privileges on earth and in 


THE LORD’S SUPPER. 


297 


heaven, are secured to those who are incorporated into 
Christ ; who, in the sacrament of the altar, “ feed upon 
him in their hearts by faith, with thanksgiving ; ” and 
with penitent and believing hearts, say, Christ dwelleth 
in us, and we in him.” 

If worthy communicants are made partakers of such 
unspeakable privileges, and thus blessed by union with 
Christ, how warm should be their emotions of gratitude ! 
How earnestly should they inquire, “ What shall we 
render unto the Lord for all his benefits ? ” The same 
sacrament which, as a memorial, teaches most important 
truths, and, as a communion, imparts and sustains most 
important privileges, does also, as a seal of the covenant, 
recognize and impose most important obligations. Under 
this aspect, while it assures us of God’s love, it, at the 
same time, binds us to his service. While it confirms to us 
God’s promise of pardon and adoption, and all other bless- 
ings of the covenant of grace, it is a solemn ratification 
of our pledge to be the Lord’s for ever. In approaching 
that ordinance, we virtually avow our separation from the 
world ; our renunciation of its pomps and vanities ; of its 
ambitious schemes and covetous pursuits ; and profess 
that we are not of the world, even as Christ was not of 
the world. As the oath of the Roman soldier, from 
which the word sacrament is taken, bound him in fealty 
to his sovereign, and in faithfulness to his commander, so 
the reception of this holy rite binds us as submissive sub- 
jects to Jehovah’s throne ; and in bedewing our lips with 
the sacramental cup, we pledge ourselves to cultivate 
all the graces, and to perform all the duties of the Chris- 


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tian life. While we thus manifest and profess our reli- 
ance upon the one sacrifice once offered in the fulness of 
time, we do, by the same act, offer ourselves, our souls 
and bodies, to be a living and holy sacrifice. 

Let all, then, who belong to “ the sacramental host of 
God’s elect,” feel that they are devoted, separated from 
sin and the world ; and, by their own voluntary act, 
solemnly consecrated to God, in a sober, righteous, and 
godly life. Let them feel this amidst their ordinary oc- 
cupations, to restrain all covetous desires. Let them feel 
it amidst all the temptations of pleasure, to hallow their 
innocent enjoyments. Let them feel it amidst all their 
intercourse with friends and relations, to chasten their 
earthly affections. While in the reception of the Holy 
Eucharist they learn all the important truths which it so 
impressively teaches, and exult in all the high privileges 
which it assures, let them never forget the holy obliga- 
tions which it imposes and confirms. In health and sick- 
ness, in prosperity and adversity, in joy and sorrow, in 
life and death, let them habitually realize, that they 
“ are not their own, but have been bought with a price, 
and must therefore glorify God in their bodies and spirits 
which are his.” 


CHRIST’S AGONY IN THE GARDEN. 


BY REV. CHANDLER ROBBINS. 


The record of the impressive and affecting scene de- 
picted in this engraving, is familiar to every Christian. 
The life of Jesus was drawing near to its sudden and 
bloody termination. The malice of his enemies was at 
its height. Their murderous plot was about to take 
effect. His betrayal was impending. The pangs of the 
cross were at hand. He went with his disciples to 
Gethsemane. The presentiment of approaching agony 
weighed heavily upon his spirit. Indefinable forebodings 
oppressed the minds of his followers. 

They were a sad and melancholy company, as they 
walked under the shade of the olive-trees, which deepened 
the gloom of the night. Jesus had come to that still and 
lonely spot, — to which, we are told, he had ofttimes 
resorted, — to prepare himself for his approaching trial ; 
out under the open sky, with his dearest earthly friends 
near him, and his Father’s presence nearer, to go through 
the last conflict with nature’s relentings, and wholly 
yield up himself to the burden of his heavy woes. 

He leaves the greater number of his disciples sitting 
together, whilst he goes by himself to pray. But, cling- 


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SACRED TABLEAUX. 


ing tenderly to the sympathy of human friendship, he 
selects the three who were most dear to him, and takes 
them apart with him, a little nearer to the solitary spot 
of his devotions. To them, more confidingly, he un- 
bosoms his grief: -“My soul is exceeding sorrowful, 
even unto death. Tarry ye here, and watch with me.” 
Keep close at hand, within sight, within call, while I step 
aside to pray. How natural, how ineffably touching, 
these feelings and acts of our Redeemer ! What soul, 
acquainted with the bitterness of grief, does not sympa- 
thize with and understand them ! 

In such extremity, how does the heart always yearn 
both for human sympathy and divine support ! The 
sufferer loves to fix his eyes upon some friendly counte- 
nance bending over him, while his inmost soul is looking 
up to God. The dying man requires some fond breast 
upon which to pillow his drooping head ; and is pleased 
to feel the warm pressure of some human hand clasped 
tenderly in his own, though his spirit meanwhile is repos- 
ing itself upon the bosom of God, and his heart is relying 
for strength upon the almighty arm. It is not because 
we distrust the help of Heaven, but because we crave the 
consolation also of human love. It is not because we 
have a wavering confidence in God ; but because, in 
the depth of our dejection and the faintings of our heart, 
we instinctively cling to all the props that are near, and 
every look and touch of real sympathy is sweet. 

But when our Saviour had finished his prayer, “ he 
cometh to his disciples, and findeth them asleep, and 
saith unto Peter,” — in a tone of mingled surprise, 


Christ’s agony in the garden. 301 

mournfulness, and reproach, — “ What! could ye not 
watch with me one hour ? ” 

It was hard, when they saw the intensity of his sorrow, 
that they could not watch with him. It was hard, 
when they witnessed the agony of his prayer, as he fell 
on his face, and prayed, that they should resign them- 
selves to sleep. It was hard to be thus forsaken in ex- 
tremity, by those whom he loved so much. It was hard 
to be refused so small a service by those who had just 
before professed themselves ready to die with him. It 
was hard to be left to go through that terrible conflict 
alone. 

But so it must be ! So it too often is ! The child of 
sorrow vainly seeks a human friend capable of appreciat- 
ing, or competent to share, his deepest distress ; and 
when called to drink the bitterest cup, while he turns 
from man to God and from God to man, he finds, as 
Jesus found, that only God is always wakeful, always 
true. 

When reading this sacred narrative, who that has a 
heart, does not feel the shame that rests upon humanity, 
for all the sufferings of Jesus ? Not only that the bigoted 
and viperous generation of the Jewish hypocrites made 
him the victim of their malignity ; not only that hard 
hearts were steeled against his offers of mercy, and 
rough hands thrust him aside ; not only that a brutal 
soldiery wreathed his brow with thorns, and jested at his 
agony ; but that he experienced no more tokens of grati- 
tude, and found so little sympathy, even on the part of 
those who had seen, day after day, his holy and beautiful 


26 


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SACRED TABLEAUX. 


walk ; who had felt the purity of his influence and the 
beneficence of his love. What evidence so striking and 
painful of the unworthy condition of the human heart, as 
the sorrows, the neglect, the desertion, the rejection, the 
unappreciated loveliness and moral grandeur of that 
divine benefactor ? So little loved, he who loved so 
much ! So poorly ministered unto, he who ministered to 
all so kindly ! 

Perhaps the thought sometimes comes to us, had we 
been living in our Saviour’s day, he should not have 
been so neglected. Had we been among the number of 
those who leaned on his bosom, he should not have be- 
sought us in vain to watch with him through that night 
of his agony in the Garden. We do not know. Cold, 
cold, still too cold, is the heart of man towards the Re- 
deemer of the world. And doubtless, if Jesus were here 
in person among ourselves, in precisely the same con- 
dition, and with precisely the same moral characteristics 
in which he manifested himself at Jerusalem, his sympa- 
thizing friends would still be few ; the band of his devoted 
followers a little flock. 

To which of us, Christians of the present day, are not 
both the appeal and the reproof contained in the question 
to the sleeping disciples at Gethsemane, as applicable 
and as necessary as they were to them ? I can easily imag- 
ine the same question to be addressed directly to ourselves. 
The apostles, doubtless, felt its point most keenly and 
tenderly in after times, when they remembered the occa- 
sion on which it was uttered, and the tone in which it 
was spoken. And perhaps, in connection with other 


CHRIST’S AGONY IN THE GARDEN. 


BOB 


incentives, the recollection of those few words quickened 
their religious sensibilities, and stirred their energies, in 
seasons when their zeal would otherwise have languished, 
and their activity declined. How did they regret that 
their Lord should ever have found occasion to say to 
them, “ What ! could ye not watch with me one hour? ” 
And it roused them to watch with him many hours - — 
many wearisome days and nights ; to watch for his sacred 
interests ; to watch for opportunities to serve him ; to 
watch for souls that might be drawn to his love ; to watch 
for the faithful discharge of the trust he had committed 
to their hands ; to watch for the church which he had 
redeemed with his most precious blood. 

So he is calling upon us to watch with him ; by all his 
love, by all that he has done, and all that he has endured, 
and all he is still doing, and all that he has promised to 
do — calling upon us to watch with him and for him. It 
is true that he has triumphed, and is no more the man of 
griefs. It is true that he has ascended, and is no longer 
the forsaken wayfarer. It is true that we cannot minister 
to him in his sorrows, nor wake for him in the night- 
watches. But the interests of his kingdom are his own. 
The career of his religion is as his own pilgrimage. The 
church is as his own body. The sufferings of his follow- 
ers are his own sorrows. Every act of charity, every 
self-denial for righteousness’ sake, every earnest effort for 
the diffusion of the truth, is as if it were a benefaction to 
himself. Every hour of pure and high communion with 
him in the closet, or with our fellow-Christians met to- 
gether in his name, is as if we had joined ourselves to the 


804 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


company of his disciples, when they were faint and few\ 
Every sacrifice of love for the tried and forsaken, the 
persecuted and the heavy-laden, is as if we had watched 
with him in Gethsemane, in the hour of his own agony. 

Are there not, then, many ways in which we all could 
watch with him one hour ? — ways in which we could, 
hut have not yet ; ways in which we ought, but have 
not ; ways, perhaps, in which we have been called and 
have promised to watch with him, but, like Peter, have 
not performed ? 

One hour to watch with Jesus ! Surely it is a little 
space, to give to him who is never weary of watching over 
us. One hour ! It would have been but a little time to 
have consecrated to thoughts of him and his service, had 
it been set apart from every day that we have lived since 
we first knew his love. But that little time, of how large 
and how blessed results in our own hearts and characters, 
and in the moral condition of friends and companions, 
and in the- advancement and prosperity of the church, 
might it not have been the happy instrument. One 
hour ! Methinks I hear him asking, claiming this, of all 
who profess to love him. u Watch with me daily one 
hour.” Modest request, when many of us have so much 
time, and to spare ! Reasonable demand, when the 
world is so obtrusively crowding itself upon our atten- 
tion, and wearing away in worse than unprofitable service, 
our wearisome days and nights I Kind solicitation, when 
all that we can do and bear for his sake, is to be repaid 
ten thousand fold, in our own spiritual improvement and 
the glorious recompense of immortality ! 


CHRIST’S AGONY IN THE GARDEN. 


305 


One hour ! one hour ! Hear it, Christian, from Geth- 
semane, with its darkness, fears, and agony ! Hear it 
from the height of heaven, with its light, its triumph, and 
its bliss ! Hear it in the heart-piercing tone of the 
“Man of Sorrows”! Hear it in the soul-thrilling call 
of your crowned and glorified King ! 


26 * 


CHRIST CRUCIFIED. 


By REV. A. VINTON, D.D. 


Had you been a dweller in Jerusalem, you might have 
seen on the top of a certain hillock, and relieved against 
the morning sky, a cross, such as slaves and murderers 
died upon. 

Through different avenues of the city a multitude of 
men and women are going up, as to a spectacle. 

Among the crowd upon the hill-top is one person, who 
wears a crown of platted thorns ; and his bleeding fore- 
head, his patient aspect, and the gentle light of his eye, 
might, perhaps, have engaged your sympathy, though it 
moved none in his executioners. He stands alone. No 
man comes near, to reassure him with a look of love ; 
but all stand apart, and encircle him at the distance of 
contempt ; and mock, and revile, and shout upon him, as 
at a detected felon. He weeps not, nor shrinks ; and 
yet he defies them not. When he lifts his eye from the 
ground, it is to look benignantly upon the throng, as if 
he could embrace them all. He speaks nothing ; but he 
looks unutterable love. 

At length they lift him up ; the nails are driven, and 
he is crucified. And then a shout comes forth of deri- 
sion, and a thousand gloating eyes are fastened on that 






»>'" . ' /■ 





























CHRIST CRUCIFIED. 


307 


forlorn and friendless man. You hear him cry dolefully 
once, “ My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me ? ” 
and then, at length, he bows his head upon his bosom, 
and says “ It is finished,” and you know he is dead. 
Had you asked his executioners whom they were treating 
thus, they would have said a blasphemer, a pretended 
king of the Jews, a low man, who was born in the village 
of Nazareth. But if you had referred to the prophecies, 
you would have known that this was God’s beloved Son, 
who had laid aside his glory, and come down on purpose 
to endure a life of poverty and separation, and a death 
of shame and pain. You would know, besides, that God 
was not uninterested in the event ; for the quaking earth 
and the blackened sun were awful vouchers of his dig- 
nity ; and you might have returned from the cross, as 
other spectators did, smiting your breast, with the feeling 
that it was a fearful wrong. 

As we think of this dying agony, the question naturally 
occurs, what was the peculiar pain which, aside from the 
common sufferings of the cross, prompted the wonderful 
exclamation, “ Why hast thou forsaken me?” I know 
no better answer, than that suggested by the literal im- 
port of the words. 

He was forsaken. To the keenness of his bodily 
pangs, made keener, as they were, by the delicacy of his 
physical nature, — in which lust never harbored ; which 
no coarseness of passion ever indurated into comparative 
insensibility, — was added the absorbing sorrow of deser- 
tion by his Father. 

There is no human joy so refined, none so freighted 


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with the awakening sense of delight, as the communion of 
two minds which blend together in the affinity of taste 
and mutual esteem. And we can conceive of no sorrow 
more saddening than the rupture of such a tie, and the 
consequent estrangement of feeling and extinction of 
sympathy. 

A loving child knows no punishment of misconduct, 
like the withdrawing of his father’s favor. It is not that 
his self-complacency is wounded, or his dignity impaired. 
It has no element of selfishness. It is the sense of vio- 
lence done to the loving sensibilities of the soul. It is 
the tearing away from its supreme object the clinging 
affections of a filial heart. And then the heart bleeds, 
and there is no sacrifice it would not make for one glance 
from the father’s eye, of peace and reconciliation. 

Somewhat akin to this, though heightened to a match- 
less degree, must have been the Saviour’s sorrow, when 
his complaining soul was forsaken of his Father. When 
we remember how close was their divine union, how con- 
stantly the hate of men had driven him back to rest in this 
union, as his only comfort ; when we recall his expression 
of delighted confidence, “ Father, I know that thou 
always hearest me,” and the answering assurance from 
Heaven, “ This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well 
pleased ; ” when we think of his ancient glory and joy, 
in the bosom of the Father, before the world was, we can 
understand what was the exquisite woe of the cross. We 
seem to hear the echo of the prophetic words : “Turn 
ye aside, and see ; behold, if there be any sorrow like 
unto my sorrow, wherewith the Lord hath afflicted me.” 


CHRIST CRUCIFIED. 


809 


What could he do but mourn, when the love which bound 
his life to God was snapped asunder ? It was the hour 
of the powers of darkness. 

And for what end was this woe ? 

It could not be the penal consequence of his own ill 
desert ; for he was holy, harmless, undefiled, and did no 
sin. 

“ He hath borne our griefs,” saith the prophet, “ and 
carried our sorrows. He was wounded for our transgres- 
sions, and bruised for our iniquities. The chastisement 
of our peace was upon him, and by his stripes we are 
healed.” “ The Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of 
us all.” 

It was human sin which procured all the sorrows of 
the crucified Immanuel. Sin brought him from heaven, 
and separated the loving Father from the beloved Son. 
Sin compelled the mighty humiliation, from the throne to 
the stable. Sin paved his path of poverty, and beset his 
life with reproaches. Sin made him a man of sorrows, 
a wanderer in his own world, and a foe among the very 
beings whom he loved even to dying. Sin smote him 
with the amazement of his bleeding agony in Gethse- 
mane. Sin wove the royal robe of his contempt, and 
platted the sharp crown of his down-trodden majesty. 
Sin gave the buffet, mingled the gall, drove the nails, 
and pointed the spear. Sin exulted in the lamentable 
appeal, “My God, my -God, why hast thou forsaken 
me?” And sin gave its last groan of expiring ven- 
geance, when he who bore the mighty load for a world of 
sinners dropped his head upon his breast, and cried, “ It 


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is finished.” And the earth and the heavens echoed the 
groan, that one so innocent should be treated as one so 
guilty. 

Reader, lay the subject to your heart. Make its appli- 
cation close, as you dwell on its solemn import. Let the 
words enter within you, “ For thee, my soul, for thee.” 


CHRIST’S ASCENSION INTO HEAVEN. 


BY BEV. EPHRAIM PEABODY. 


“ And he led them out as far as to Bethany ; and he 
lifted up his hands, and blessed them. And it came to 
pass, while he blessed them, he was parted from them, and 
carried up into heaven.” 

The event narrated in these words brought earth and 
heaven into visible connection. Our Lord’s ascension 
has, in a great degree, given their vividness to our con- 
ceptions of a future life. 

To the heathen sage who had the firmest faith in man’s 
immortality, the future world was afar off, vague, and 
dim ; a region of shadows, and too unreal to have much 
influence over his mind. The spiritual world, to him, 
was a dream, a flitting hope, a darkening fear ; but 
unsubstantial and unfixed as the shadow of a passing 
cloud. What makes it, to the devout Christian, seem so 
real — scarcely less real to his spiritual vision, than is 
this visible world to his mortal senses ? What brings it 
so near, as if but a thin veil were between — as if it 
were joined to this world — this world, the threshold 
from which we step into the portals of the other, and 
enter amidst its solemn mysteries? Not merely the 


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teachings of Christ ; hut, more than all things else, his 
personal and visible ascension to heaven. 

The common experiences of life illustrate the impor- 
tance of this event to human faith. There may be some 
distant part of the country which you have never vis- 
ited, and of whose inhabitants you know no one. Hear 
about it and read about it as much as you may, it is still 
difficult to gain any definite idea of it. It is, to your 
mind, afar off, covered with clouds and shadows. But 
let an intimate friend go there to dwell, let one of your 
children make his abode there, and at onee the whole 
region grows distinct to you. It is less distant. You 
look at it through the eyes of those whom you love, and 
it is as if you saw it with your own. Your sympathies 
and affections give clearness to your vision. The soil of 
that distant land, its productions, its hills, its skies, lose 
their shadowy character, and are scarcely less real to 
you than the scenes which surround your home. 

This but feebly illustrates the influence which our 
Saviour’s ascension has had on our ideas of the spiritual 
world ; in bringing it near to us, in disrobing it of the 
mists which hid it, in dispelling its visionary and unsub- 
stantial character, and in giving distinctness and reality 
to our conceptions. That heavenly world can no longer 
seem very remote ; for one whom we have known and 
loved on earth has ascended thither, and there lives and 
reigns. We ourselves, before many years pass, expect 
to appear before him. His presence there gives vividness 
to the faith of Christians, and force to the sanctions and 
motives drawn from another life ; and, in doing this, it 


THE ASCENSION. 


313 


has made all the truths of his religion more influential 
and operative on the minds of men. 

This event, rightly viewed, should change much of the 
language used respecting Christ. We speak of him, his- 
torically, as one who once lived and taught, but who long 
since died. Rather should we think of him as one who 
now lives, and whose relations to this world have never 
ceased ; as one who, at this moment, feels as deep an 
interest in each individual on the earth, as in those who 
first listened to his teachings; as one who, we have reason 
to believe, looks down and beholds our wants and strug- 
gles, and who ever maketh intercession for us before the 
throne of the Father ; as one upon whom we shall not 
merely look at some future day, but with whom we 
may now be bound in the closest spiritual bonds of rever- 
ential trust and affection. Think not of Jesus merely as 
one who, eighteen hundred years ago, was buried in a 
grave of Judea. He is not there; he is risen ! He now 
lives ; not as when on the earth, crowned with thorns, 
weighed down with pain, but glorious in light and ma- 
jesty. And they who approach the heavenly kingdom 
are not approaching a land of strangers ; but one where 
dwells a living Saviour and advocate with the Father. 

As Jesus ascended, when last seen, his hands were 
extended in benediction above his apostles. Fit parting 
for him who, in life and death, had blessed the world ! 

But not the apostles alone have looked in humble sor- 
row and trust, to receive that benediction. In the power 
of a holy imagination millions have gathered, circle above 
circle, below that mountain, hallowed by the Saviour’s 


27 


314 


SACRED TABLEAUX. 


farewell — the sick, the oppressed, the penitent, the 
aged, they who shrunk from death, and yet must die ; 
and have looked upward to receive that benediction which 
is full of immortal life. 

A still greater day shall come, when the farewell bene- 
diction shall be exchanged for words of reunion ; a day 
when all pious souls, in a brighter world, redeemed from 
sin, redeemed from fear, shall pass before his throne and 
cast their crowns at his feet, saying, “ Worthy is the 
Lamb that was slain, to receive power, and riches, and 
wisdom, and strength, and honor, and glory, and blessing. 
And every creature which is in heaven and on earth 
shall say, Blessing, and honor, and glory, and power, be 
unto him that sitteth on the throne, and to the Lamb, for 
ever.” 



































































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